VC - The Eastern Heat
by Certified
Summary: In 1965EC, the eruption of war in the Federation colony of Avietan thrusts the Federation and a no longer neutral Gallia into the jungles of Jerithia against various guerrillas and the Imperial-Backed Jerithian army to push back their invasion of the colony, now under threat from an enemy from within, the Avietanese Liberation Front lead by the enigmatic Darcsen known as Haas.
1. Prologue

Prologue – "Momento Mori"

The year was 1965 EC, a year considered just as mediocre to many of the world's populace as any other year before it. The cold-war between East and West could be considered a blessing or a curse depending on who you asked. The space-race between the Federation and the Empire had succeeded in two things – Putting a man in space, beyond the heavens once considered the limit, and the invention of missiles that could unleash destruction from a launch-site hundreds, if not thousands of kilometers away.

A delicate balance held the world in equilibrium between peace and total annihilation. Not even the United Coalition of Independent Sovereignties could maintain its political neutrality in the inhospitable political climate that had engulfed every civilized corner of the planet, not with their Ragnite interests in the east at stake. Proxy wars ravaged the developing lands southeast of Europa, and colonies increasingly practiced civil unrest against their foreign masters.

One such place was the Federation puppet-state of Avietan, bordering on the Empire-backed nation of Jerithia to its north. Avietan straddled between two different regions, to the west, an inhospitable desert known as the Middle Badlands, and to the east, an endless expanse of jungle known as the Jerithan. Jerithia was not much different, however the jungle of their namesake pushed westward on the northern end of Jerithia. The same could not be said for their cultures, putting the region under constant threat of war between their clashing social values and rich Ragnite stocks.

Thus was so on July seventh of 1965, when a small incident on the border between the two nations escalated into a violent border clash between the two nations. By the end of the week both nations had formal declarations of war drafted against the other, and the two nations were engulfed in the bloodiest war to grip their history. The Second Jerithan War had finally sparked. On July 20th, Jerithan tanks of Imperial-make rolled across the border after nearly a week of fruitless border skirmishes. With no possible chance against Jerithia's superior military and funding, Avietan was forced to call upon the might of the Federation's armed forces to stem the Jerithian invasion.

With the Federation now involved in the war, it was not long before its allies followed them to war. On August first, Gallia and the UCIS had mobilized their forces, both nations violating decades of neutrality policies put in place by their forefathers. With what looked to be a quick and decisive win, it was not long before a new enemy had appeared to turn the tables. The Avietanese Liberation Front sprung up without warning, bringing deadly guerilla attacks from behind the Avietan line. Noone knew why they fought, what they wanted, or why they would spring up and sabotage the already weak nation as it was under threat. All the Federation knew was a person, their enigmatic Darcsen leader who addressed himself as "Haas".


	2. Chapter 1 - A Broken Tradition

Chapter 1 – "A Broken Tradition"

The Gallian Force promptly set up its own task force to bring Haas to justice while the Federation fought Jerithia's conventional army. Operating out of central Avietan at Firebase Damon, Taskforce Echo-2 under the command of Colonel Ustinov of the Gallian Marines had one single objective, and only one. Kill Haas, at any cost.

The date was November 15th, 1965EC. Squad Nine had been sent out to make contact with squads Five and Seven after they failed to report in during their recon into the jungle hours earlier. Dusk had already set by the time Squad Nine was moving, much like any other operation that Captain Alan Conte was in charge of.

"All right, let's get it moving ladies, time to go to work!"

He slammed his fist against the APC's door a few times, signaling their pilot to return to base. The air here felt unbearably humid against Conte's skin as he cut through the vines hanging down from the trees around him. The first thing that caught his eye in the darkness here was the corpse of a Gallian Marine laying face-down in the mud not even ten meters from where they had just been dropped off. Conte looked around; making sure the rest of his squad had followed him instead of engaging in horseplay back where the APC had dropped them. The rest of Squad Nine immediately jumped to alert, scanning for hostiles at what had been an ambush site earlier.

"Sergeant Gunther, check the body for his tags. I want an idea of what situation we just stepped in to."

Sergeant Aaron Gunther, not exactly someone who was green at this point. Noone who lasted more than a week in this jungle without dying could be called green anyway. Fought during the later portion of the First Jerithan War five years ago that had ended in the nation being split into Avietan and Jerithia under influence of the Federation and Empire respectively. Conte wasn't much different; having been a rather successful tank commander in the first war following his graduation from Lanseal following it's reopening. Either way, both were career men who had the luck to visit the same country twice for the same reason. Gallia's neutrality truly was dead, all hats off to an alliance with the Federation.

"Yes sir!"

Aaron knelt down to the corpse, slowly looking around for any booby-traps the ALF might have put on him. Right on his dog tags a single strand of wire stood rigged to a Ragnite charge, ready to detonate if anyone pulled the tags.

"Standard ALF trap on the corpse. Stahl, defuse kit, will ya?"

Stahl threw him his defusal kit, cringing as he expected Gunther to trip the bomb and rain in a hail of gibs. Gunther gave himself a moment, clipping the wire in a way that almost set the explosive off from tugging on the wire. He set aside the now-defused bomb, checking the dog-tags of the mutilated Gallian corpse right away.

"It's Lieutenant Hoff of Squad Five, sir!"

Conte sighed as he removed his gaze from Hoff's corpse, lighting a cigarette as he thought of his next course of action now that the ALF had already killed one of the squad leaders. Up ahead Corporal Dahl, one of Squad Nine's scouts, was already inspecting the path of footsteps that fled the area, a sharp contrast to the horseplay Gunther and Stahl had already engaged in.

"You owe me 25 Ducats the moment we're back in camp, Aaron."

"Screw you, Stahl, I said the whole of both squads!"

"Nope, you said it was just a radio malfunction… Say, didn't your daddy ever tell you not to gamble on casualties? It just jinxes everything."

"Yeah, so? My mother and sister told me that I shouldn't join them Marines when I did during the last war."

"Point taken. You still owe me-"

Dahl began screaming at everyone as he ran back to the squad, ducking down to the nearest cover.

"ALF ambush! Get down, hostiles armed with R-38s!"

The entire squad hit the deck, narrowly avoiding getting cut down by the fire from the ALF shocktroops. Occasionally one would reload their cumbersome drum magazine while out of cover and get picked off from Gunther's GAR27 or Dahl's Rowen-D. The pattern continued on for the next five minutes until eventually the uncoordinated guerillas retreated into the jungle. Conte looked out at the array of Avietanese corpses, spitting his cigarette down onto what looked to be a conscripted child-soldier he had gunned down.

"Kids these days… Raised to think war is some schoolyard game. Well, no kill streak for you kiddo." Conte lit himself another cigarette, taking one of the ALF soldiers' packs this time, "Gunther, take his R-38. He won't be needing it anymore."

Aaron swept up the rifle, slinging his GAR27 to his back as he thought of a witty one-liner for his new gun.

"Ho ho ho, now I-"

"You have another machine-gun. Great. Twenty-five Ducats, stat."

"Shut up and get to defusing any mines they might have left for us, Stahl. Gunther, don't get cocky or that gun's going to jam on your before you know it, and for god's sake take their ammo before we go. We're going to follow the trail the Dahl found, see if we find the rest of the unit if they're not dead yet."

The rest of Squad Nine, Stahl, Dahl, and Hayes were new recruits, enlisting the moment they heard that Gallia would be mobilizing. To people like them the military was some sort of adventure, a retreat from the rat-race of urban life in Gallia. Others decided it would be better to enlist right away, predicting an eventual draft anyway that would force them to join regardless. Some just followed their inner patriotism, following the war propaganda that cluttered the media encouraging any man over the age of 17 to enlist.

After 30 minutes of following Dahl's lead down the trail of footprints left by the other two squads, Squad Nine had finally reached the end of it- An abandoned fortification from the First Jerithan War in the middle of a jungle clearing. ALF corpses littered the yard here like they were grass. Spent casings provided contrast against their farm-clothes strewn about. Anyone not already dead offed themselves as Squad Nine approached in awe.

"Looks like Five and Seven gave them a run for their money. Investigate the bunker, see if they're around."

"Yes sir! Door's already broken through and- Oh my god…"

Gunther hit his first against the concrete as he stared in shock at the scene before him.

"Son of a bitch! I'm going to fucking kill you for this, you hear me, Haas?!"

All of squad Five and Seven, sans their officers, sat motionless on the concrete, executed from behind one at a time with a pistol. Crude graffiti on the wall behind them spelled out "The fate of all who oppose Haas – The true messiah of the Darcsens". Conte inspected all of their tags and shook his head before lighting himself yet another cigarette. Something was beyond simply amiss for him now.

"This still leaves Lieutenant Kowalski of Seventh Squad unaccounted for. Gunther, Dahl, search for her, she still may be nearby... Goddamnit, Darcsens don't even natively live out here in Avietan, what does Haas see in stirring up a bunch of Avietanese to interfere with us stopping an invasion of their nation?"

"I wouldn't know sir. This isn't like any Darcsen would do to begin with. It doesn't make sense."

"What are you waiting for Gunther, I wasn't asking you. Get searching!"

Gunther and Dahl began to search the basement level of the bunker. ALF corpses lined the walls, the stench and insects shuffling around made the air nigh impossible to breath. Most of the doors here were already open and presumably clear of anyone, not a single light shown down here except for from the staircase. The last door at the end of the hallway remained shut, until that is Dahl kicked it down.

"Get back! Explain yourself!"

In front of them was Lieutenant Kowalski, still alive and breathing in the chokepoint she had created. Her uniform was torn up from various rounds cutting into it and the sharp branches of the plants in this jungle. A shot up and ruined Kevlar vest sat disposed on the ground behind her as the two stepped forward to investigate.

"Sergeant Aaron Gunther and Private Jan Dahl, Squad Nine, Mam. We're here to evac your squad… Or rather just you at this point, Mam."

"Well about damned time! Our handhelds got jammed as we fled here to hold out. Until Haas' men arrived, that is."

"What about your mission? What have you found on Haas?"

Kowalski began pulling out a pocket-map, trying to remember what she had to say from what she had found.

"Of course. We've found out where he's hiding at. More importantly, about Haas…"

"What is it? We need all you can give us!"

"It's Haas, He… He's-"

A single shot roared down the hall, splattering Kowalski's brains on the concrete wall behind her. A single Darcsen assailant began to aim at Dahl, squeezing the trigger until Conte interrupted him with a knife to the side of his throat.

"Case-in-point proof of the Darcsen Calamity, gentlemen."

Gunther picked up Kowalski's map, dusting it off and shaking a spider off it as he retorted Conte's remark.

"Or as my old-man wrote to me about, a self-fulfilling prophecy"

"Shut it and hand me that map, Sergeant."

Gunther handed the map over to Conte and gave Stahl a punch where he kept his wallet.

"Looks like you owe me 25 instead, it was radio failure."

"Consider us even then. Because they had one-hundred percent casualties, Aaron."

"Twenty-five Ducats. Now."

"Hell no. Not only is your old man a stuck-up college professor, but apparently he's a dark-hair sympathizer."

"Twenty-five or you're getting fragged, asshole…"

"Also, I heard your big sister's one of those bimbos in one of those porno magazines too, any truth to that Aaron?"

Conte fired his pistol into the ceiling, shutting Gunther and Stahl's mouths instantly. The map folded up in his hands and slid perfectly into his front pocket as he gathered his thoughts.

"Keep em' shut, both of you, and stop screwing around like a bunch of dumb Porcavians. Dahl, radio in for extraction. Tell them we need ten body-bags…"

He tapped his cigarette out and glanced at the map again as he thought solemnly of Five and Seven's sacrifices that day. Everyone knew it could end like it did for them, but occasional people got cocky and forgot. Then things like this happened and reminded everyone of how easily death could take them. No amount of faith in Yggdism could protect from the bombs, bullets, and traps the ALF had out here. Conte couldn't stop himself from staring at Kowalski's gored corpse in shock, with her dead before he could even possibly help. All he could do now was pray he wasn't next.


	3. Chapter 2 - Side Bets

Chapter 2 – Side Bets

Haas' villa in the Badlands town of Oc Dao provided, in his words, perspective. The downtrodden villagers here contrasted on his well-tailored suit and fine-combed hair. Haas gave another look out the window of his command center down at the town militia ready to fight to the death by his command. Behind him, a single prisoner stood, two armed guards flanking him. Haas turned around to them, loading a round into his revolver as he began his speech to the Prisoner.

"You are more expendable than you would be inclined to think, filth. I can name at least seven people in Europa alone who can replace you in an instant. Would you like me to say them out loud?"

Haas spit on the Prisoner's Federation Army uniform and spun the revolver's chamber with the round inside for a game of Fhirald Roulette. He checked his list of other possible targets he could take, and them cocked back the revolver's hammer. A few last names stood out on the list, but for all he cared they were equal once you stripped them, in a fit of irony, of their last names. Glancing between the list and one of the guards he called one over.

"Bring me Doctor Ivanov from his lab… Schnell, schnell!"

The guard bolted, saluting Haas for but a moment before he went to retrieve the geneticist from his lab. Haas smirked as he threw the list to the table and brought the revolver to the Prisoner's temple. The trigger squeezed down in slow-motion as Haas savored the moment. No shot rang out, the hammer stopping without a round for it to collide. Haas laughed and loaded another round into the chamber and spun it again.

"Us Darcsens are nothing if not hospitable, eh? You get to live. For now."

Doctor Ivanov briskly entered the room, saluting Haas as he picked a seat at the table. Haas took a seat across from him, holstering his revolver and throwing the list over to Ivanov.

"Haas, what brings me from my work at this late hour?"

"Relax, it's only midnight, Viktor, besides, you should know by now the Darcsen people's quest for justice never sleeps."

Ivanov eyed the list for a few moments, thinking which subject would be best for them to retrieve. To the side he pulled out a pedigree chart and compared it with all the subjects to see who was more fit. After a few moments of what would take most students of his field several hours he had narrowed the list down to the three best subjects.

"O'Connor, Gerald. Noone will miss him, sans his loan sharks he owes a great deal to. If anything he'd be getting what's coming to him considering his reputation. Next subject, Wollcroft, Nicole. Serial killer imprisoned in an Imperial work camp, ties to the resistance group known as the Fhirald Independence League. The Imperials likely already know more about her than we do though, and she is likely put under the toughest security of the Empire. Only a well-bribed bureaucrat in the right position is going to get her into our hands."

"Anyone else? I don't want to go through the trouble of kidnapping only to find them being useless to me."

"I've worked in this field for decades. They are perfect matches that I've found in my studies. I can give you absolute guarantee of this. Anyway, the last possible subject in my top three is Gunther, Isara. Direct descendant of confirmed subject Gunther, Alicia. No better guarantee there, however her line of work may make her exceptionally difficult to apprehend, but certainly worth the risk with my personal guarantee the reward will be much greater."

"You're confusing me here, Doctor. How about you just tell me which one of them is easier to acquire? I don't want to waste any of my men on one that is either dangerous or too secure to get to. What's your top one in that regard?"

"Fine then, the least risk would go to Gerald O'Connor. Can't guarantee the reward will be as great as the feminine subjects, but I can guarantee that he will be useful at least. Slight problem though-"

"What is it now, Viktor? My justice cannot sit and wait like this"

"O'Connor is homeless and drifts around from place to place wherever work is available ever since the Gallian Civil War bankrupted him. He also doesn't go under his real name, since he's also a fugitive wanted for his purging of uncountable Darcsens when he was an officer of the Gallian Revolutionary Army."

Haas perked up, loading his revolver completely as he listened to Ivanov about O'Connor's GRA history.

"I see he is one of the murderers of my people, eh? Do you happen to know where he may be now?"

"Rumor has it he may be working with an Imperial spy-ring now. By some stroke of coincidence, five Imperial spies were just recently discovered and arrested last week in Randgriz and Vasel. They're all pending execution before the year's out.

"Then we must recapture them before the firing squad meets them first. Fine then, we'll go after him. I'm making the calls. You get back to finding any other possible leads on O'Connor in case he isn't among them."

The two men began to get up from their seats as one of Haas' henchmen burst into the room. His sweaty, blue-tinted hair swayed in the wind coming from the open window as he panicked.

"What is it, my Darcsen comrade?"

"Odell has been found dead, stabbed right through the throat by a Gallian blade. He didn't cover our tracks! They know we're hiding out here!"

"This was inevitable, comrade. I've prepared myself well for this. What else?"

"The Gallians and Federation are preparing a join strike-force to attack us here by tomorrow morning!"

"Calm yourself. Alert the town militia to prepare for the attack. Tell my double that he will be staying behind. Everyone else packs and relocates with me by the end of this hour."

The Darcsen saluted, running off to give everyone else their orders. Haas walked over to the Prisoner, cocking his revolver.

"Any last words, my guest?"

The prisoner forced his stiffened neck to meet Haas' gaze as the revolver thumped back and forth on his forehead.

"Of course, Haas… By the will of the Valkyria, burn in-"

Haas delivered a swift kick to the Prisoner's face, bringing him to the floor as he spun his revolver through the air. By the time it hit his hand again it was already pointed square against the Prisoner's forehead. His head exploded in a most predictable fashion to Haas as the Ragnite tipped rounds ignited in his grey-matter.

"Utterly useless… Ivanov, get your lab packed up."

"What about the warhead, Haas?"

"Leave it for our guests. I want them to know what we are capable of. We have others, maybe even at excess, at our disposal anyway. It doesn't hurt to give the Federation some of their property back that we're not going to use."

"Of course, Haas. I'll be ready to go when you are."

"See to it then, Doctor."

Haas looked around his command center, slowly taking anything of value, be it strategic or personal. A flag adorned with the insignia of the Calamity Ravens hung on the wall at the end of the room, to which he couldn't help but admire it for minutes at a time with nostalgia of times past until he decided to fold it up and pack it to take with him. Various documents laid around, most of which Haas threw into his fireplace, being long redundant since Haas had memorized every last line of them for himself. By the time anyone arrived to waylay his command center for intel he would already be a ghost by all means, even down to the point of being confirmed dead and buried. He closed the window to the command center one last time, sitting down to recall what his next course of action would be once the Gallians wrote him off as dead.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Home Effort

Chapter 3 – The Home Effort

Back in Gallia, factories produced arms by the trainload for itself and the Federation, the people spent their spare change on war bonds, or even enlisted themselves. R&D facilities in industrial sectors like Fouzen worked around the clock to design new tanks, V-Exos, and other new armaments for the war effort in Jerithia. Propaganda films like the recent adaptation of _On the Gallian Front_ overtook the theaters, encouraging everyone of age to enlist. It was the exact image of a nation that had adjusted well to war through the past decades of tragedy.

It was half past ten at night in Bruhl when Isara Gunther's alarm went off right next to her ear. In a minute flat she had thrown herself from bed and had her police uniform fitted on perfectly. Freshly brewed coffee sat on the kitchen counter as she rushed around the house, occasionally getting picked up by her for a few moments to take in a sip before she went around looking for something else she had forgotten. The train schedule kept pinned to the icebox displayed that the train going to Randgriz from Bruhl would be arriving at 2330 sharp. In the next room, one of the newly released colored-TV sets displayed GBS' late-evening news filled to the brim with pro-war jingoism. Isara took her coffee again and slipped into the other room where her mother was slowly dozing off on the couch.

"Where's father been? I haven't seen him around at all whenever I've been out here. He hasn't been working late nights again, has he?"

"What else would he be doing this late? The University has been overwhelmed with applications of people trying to avoid a draft if it happens. Never mind that he's been working a part-time job as a consultant for one of those hotshot studios from the Federation making propaganda films…"

"No really, I worry for him. In between that Imperial spy-ring that got busted and Darcsen extremists…"

Alicia slowly picked herself up from the couch, picking up a letter from Aaron left under a pill bottle.

"You should be worried about your Brother who is wasting his youth away on another foolish war away from home. And shame on your father for his indifference to it."

"Mother, Aaron is 25 years old, he can make his own decisions-"

"Just not wise ones. One of these days the man talking to our neighbors right now will be coming to our door instead."

"I appreciate your optimism, Mother…"

Isara sighed and checked on the clock. Fifteen more minutes till eleven. On the table next to Alicia stood their last whole-family photo from nine years ago on Isara's 18th birthday. The Gunther family had never been as close as their neighbors may have been lead to believe, especially since she had left home for the Randgriz Police Academy. Not long after, Aaron had enlisted in the Marines the moment he was 17.

"…But Aaron can handle himself."

"That's what they all say."

"Of course. Listen, I need to get going to the train station before I'm late, but I'm going to be back on Thursday instead of Friday this week, so please remember to leave the door unlocked then… Or you could just give me the spare keys for once…"

"Fine, take the spare keys when you leave, not like I use them anyway."

"And stop worrying about Aaron, he's safe under Colonel Ustinov's command. He wouldn't send his men on something Marines can't handle."

"Colonel Ustinov has the maturity of a clown, Isara. Understand that."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing then, just my old personal experience of the man."

Isara slowly backed out, filching the spare keys off the table by the door, and checked the clock again. The sound of Alicia complaining filtered out of her ears as she zoned out, trying to think about work and the morning ahead. She gave one last look at her mother before slipping out the door suddenly.

"Well, have to go now, Mother, tell Father I said hello when he gets back!"

Isara checked her uniform for any defects, shutting the door behind her as her mother shrugged and began to prepare for the morning ahead at the bakery. When Isara finally reached the train station it was rather devoid of souls, with the obvious exception of Luger who was sitting casually on one of the green benches there.

"Agent Luger. Good to see you."

"Likewise, Agent Gunther", Luger replied, "Still rolling the sunglasses at night look?"

Isara could barely notice she was wearing sunglasses as the two shook hands and sat next to eachother to wait for the train. Isara wrapped her Mother's red scarf around her neck as the wind-chill began to bear down on them. _Ten more minutes until the train finally arrives_, Isara noted to herself.

"You haven't been keeping up with your appearance, have you, Gunther?" noting a slight tone of brown under her dyed charcoal-black hair.

"Relax, Luger, I'll dye it again when we're back in Randgriz. It's nothing important, is it?"

"Ah, forget it. Your family still falling for your cover?"

"Well of course, what else?" Isara retorted, almost insulted.

"Well, I… Uh… Nothing then… Just… The sunglasses, working so far from home, and… Uh, forget it."

Isara shook her head and slid away from Luger as he descended into one of his awkward moments.

"Yes, I get it, they'd be beyond pissed if they knew what we do… Now just shut up until we're back in Randgriz. Your babbling is going to attract attention, Luger."

A few minutes of awkward silence later their train had finally arrived. Both the StateInt agents silently flashed their IDs and passes as they took their seats in the train car, awaiting the three hour ride to Randgriz. A few of the typical late-nighters got on after them, and a few more at every station, all of them going to or from their night-shifts. After three hours everyone was where they needed to be. Randgriz, the great capital of Gallia, and where StateInt resided.

Isara checked the station's clock as she, Luger, and everyone else strolled off the train. Right on schedule as always, at 2:35. Isara finished reading her uncensored copy of _On the Gallian Front_ after a quick reading of Chapter 14 out of boredom and began to follow Luger to the Army base on the edge of town. She gave the book one last glance thinking to herself '_Oh the secrets you can't hide from a StateInt agent, Mother_' as she slipped it into her baggage.

The two stopped at their apartment, swapping their clothes they came in with for much more formal clothing not too different from what Haas himself wore, same tailor too. With that out of the way the two continued on, arriving at the base. Noone stopped them for ID, following the silent rule to ignore anyone in black formalwear, especially sunglasses. The only security that mattered was the checkpoint to the StateInt wing.

IDs flashed, fingerprints got compared, faces got cross referenced. No room existed for a security slip at StateInt.

"Mam, I'm going to have to ask you to remove your sunglasses please so I can cross-reference your ID."

Isara stood silent, staring at the rookie security officer. _'Oh great'_, Isara thought to herself, _'The FNG got to man the door today'_.

"Captain Gunther, please remove your sunglasses or I will have to remove them for you."

"I'm afraid that's a non-option, Private."

"Wha-? I apologize for this inconvenience Mam! You're both clear for access!"

"Thank you, Sergeant Oswald. I hope we will not have this discussion again."

Isara and Luger pushed past the door, locking it behind them. To their left various desk-job'd StateInt agents milled in cubicles, typing intelligence reports up on their typewriters or inspecting intel reports sent from agents undercover in the Empire and Jerithia. They were the finest example of what happened if you failed a mission in the field.

To their other flank were the offices of various field-agents, like Luger and Gunther. Past the main offices was the Director's office and the briefing room. The basement level held the forensics lab and R&D, while the second story was more offices again. Isara and Luger stopped themselves at the briefing room where a meeting was already going on.

The Director motioned them in as they stood by the door, Isara already opening the door anyway. A projector slide showing Haas' profile overtook the wall at the end of the room.

"As you have all heard, we received a telegram a few hours ago that the location of Haas has been found. As we speak, a Marine unit is already on route to take him down. The Archduchess has already given personal approval of this and related operations."

"If I may ask", Luger interjected, "Two things. One, why is he 'Haas, G'? Are you implying Haas to be a last name? We all know that Darcsens don't have last-names, and two, how is this-"

"Why yes, Agent Luger, had you not been sleeping at last month's briefing you would be aware the so-called 'Messiah of the Darcsens' is only a half-Darcsen. Now, how is this relevant?"

"Uh… I… It just caught my eye sir. Won't mention it again."

The Director flipped in the next slide, mumbling "Damn right you won't", trying to remember what to say next as he glanced at the projection.

"But yes, now that we are moving in to eliminate Gustav Haas, this is the perfect opportunity to cut off any other heads that may rise in his place."

Another slide flipped in, showing a profile of Viktor Ivanov. Isara pulled herself to alert, staring into Dr. Ivanov's eyes on the projection as if he was staring back.

"Doctor Ivanov, geneticist and former R&D lead here, whom you all know defected early last month to join Haas. Needless to say, he knows too much for us to let him live, including but not limited to the identities of every StateInt agent undercover in the Empire and Jerithia, every possible descendant of the Valkyrur bloodline, several long-term strategies for the war in Jerithia, and the schedules of various top-secret diplomatic meetings with the Empire."

Isara pulled herself up from her chair and continued the Director's speech as he searched for the next slide in his briefcase under the table.

"It doesn't need to be said that he alone represents the greatest threat to Gallia's national security."

The Director finished his search to no avail, not a single slide or notes to be found in his briefcase anymore. Nothing he hadn't gone over yet, at least.

"Agents, dismissed. Agents Luger, Gunther, Walther, and Johnson report to my office in one hour for their next assignments."

All the agents saluted, shuffling out of the room one by one through the single doorway at the far end. Before long nearly every attendee was catching up on sleep in their offices. Walther and Johnson sat for a casual conversation in their office, along with Gunther and Luger in the next over.

"You know, Luger, just because you dyed your hair blonde and never touch a shawl doesn't suddenly make you not a Darcsen, right? You can cut the crap, everyone here knows and will know you're just a Darcsen."

Luger spun his pen around and yawned at Isara. He know damn well the value of not looking like a Darcsen, even if the Archduchess was one. Big esteem difference between the nation's head and a lowly StateInt agent.

"Forget it, Isara, but heed this. I tell you, no way Haas is a real Darcsen. We don't have last names, Isara. No full names like Gustav Haas. We all know-"

"You forget it, Luger, he'll be dead by tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, um, of course. New subject, why do you always wear those sunglasses, Isara?"

Isara turned around at Luger who had already relaxed in his desk.

"That's classified, Luger."

"Yeah, right."

"Fine. I wear them because the Director tells me to. Happy, Luger?"

"Fair enough."

"What about you Luger, why do you insist on covering up being a Darcsen? Everyone here knows you are, and I don't see Walther pretending not to be a Darcsen."

"I don't see my brother getting assigned to missions that involve infiltrating the Empire. The Director's always been easy on Walther, Isara."

Isara eyed over at the clock behind Luger, reminding herself when they needed to see the Director. Five more minutes till. Always seemed like time flew, maybe even too much. In the past hour they hadn't even reviewed any of the intel reports from Avietan like they were supposed to instead of chatting.

"Well Luger, maybe if the hit on the not-so-Darcsen Haas royally screws up you'll get to infiltrate a group where you can be yourself."

"Heh, fat chance, Is."

"Whatever then, chances are we'll be getting some mission in Jerithia, I'd guess recon or sabotage… Say, we're expected in the Director's office right about now. Better get yourself the best damn shawl you can find if Haas pulls one on us all."

"He won't. Now, let's get this talk with the Director done with so I can know which Imperial bureau I get the fortune to infiltrate this time."

The two shook their heads at eachother and checked their watches. One minute until the Director would chastise them for hours for being a second late. A moment they were checking their watches, another moment their office looked like it was abandoned to a Ragnide gassing. Not like it was much of a difference compared to the Director's overzealous emphasis on punctuality. Such was the true peril of any StateInt agent.


	5. Chapter 4 - The Raid

Chapter 4 – "The Raid"

Now aware of Haas' base of operations, the Gallians and Federation set up an impromptu strike-force to take down Haas where he stood. On November 16th at 1030 hours, Operation Calamity's End was in effect. The Gallian force, an armored battle-group of heavy tanks and V3 exos under the command of Captain Conte rolled in, cutting down most of Oc Dao's resistance in short order.

"Wolf Three, you've got lancers on your six!"

"Roger that, Wolf Nine."

The tank swung its gun around, shredding the ALF lancer as he fired off his AT lance into the tank's radiator, disabling it instantly as the tank's safeguards cut off all Ragnite ignition in the engine.

"Uh, Wolf Three here, gotta bail, someone get an engineer on my tank."

"Roger that Wolf Three, dispatching engineer team."

Conte slipped on his aviator sunglasses and scanned around the desert that enveloped Oc Dao. Federation V3s put the outskirts of Oc Dao to ash with each successive shot. Constant requests for engineer teams flooded Conte's radio. He couldn't help but notice the exceptional amount of lancers fielded by the enemy here. It was the tell-tale sign they had been expected.

"Captain Conte to all exos, focus fire on lancers and prepare to advance with the APC."

Beautiful azure lasers filled the plane of battle, taking pressure off of Conte's tanks as the lancers fell back or got incinerated. At Conte's hand signal, the entire battle-group of tanks and V3 exos descended on Oc Dao's walls. A single convoy of APCs fled, getting disintegrated by the V3s. Before long the town was already surrounded and swarmed by the tanks flooding into the town's streets.

"Squads Two, Six, and Nine, move out! Exos, fall back for resupply! All armor, lock down the streets. I want this place frozen in five, gun down any jackass who's armed or tries running!"

All the deployed squads sprinted to Haas' villa, placing charges on his doors. Inside, squads of shocktroops aimed down on the doors, R-38s ready to gun down platoons of men. A few moments of tension later the doors around the villa blasted in, killing or incapacitating most of the shocktroops huddled in front.

"Clear! Dahl, cover our six. Stahl, take the left hallway and link up with me in the perpendicular."

Aaron kicked down the door on their right, unloading shots from his R-38 at anything that moved. No Darcsens sighted yet, but scouts confirmed Haas was still on the premises. Aaron and Stahl met up at the end of their halls, overlooking squads Two and Six moving into the bunker and the labs, respectively.

"All that's left is the command center. I'm radioing in with Conte, keep me covered."

Aaron pulled out his handheld, eyeing Haas through the keyhole as he sat at his desk, completely solitary of what was occurring all around him.

"This is Sergeant Gunther, got eyes on HVT, how copy?"

"Five by five. Take him alive, we'll need him alive for interrogation."

"Roger that, preparing to breach."

Another voice took over the frequency, shutting out the Captain.

"This is Colonel Ustinov to all squads, disregard that order. The HVT is to be eliminated on sight. No exceptions. I don't care if the bastard has agents set to kill your entire family if he turns up dead, just do it."

Aaron sighed, questioning himself of who's orders to follow. From his view, Haas was still sitting around, just waiting with no attempt at escape. Aaron gave one last look and prepared to break down the door.

"Y'know, I really wish Hayes wasn't stuck in the field hospital right now, this would be a shitton easier… Breaching!"

Aaron kicked in the door, stunning Haas as he and Stahl flanked him on both sides. Haas put his hands behind his head mumbling that he had surrendered as Stahl readied himself to pull the trigger on the rogue Darcsen.

"You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you, Sergeant Gunther?"

Stahl smashed his rifle butt against Haas' stomach, using that time as Haas doubled over to take everything he could for intel. Aaron gripped Haas by the collar and gave him two left-hooks with the force of a rocket.

"Where do you know me from, Haas?"

"Your dog-tags that are hanging out from your uniform, Gallian pig."

"Fair enough. Stahl, get cuffs out, I'm taking this asshole alive. So he can feel all the pain in the world for what he's done. For Kowalski and Hoff."

"Got it… Could just shoot him though…"

Stahl began sifting through his engineer kit for zipcuffs or some other restraint he might have. Spanners, hammers, bolts, and other tools fell out one at a time as he looked around. Aaron was almost hypnotized by the routine Stahl was going through. A single shot rang through the room, blowing right through Stahl's stomach with enough force to tear the entire region's skin to a bloody pulp. Aaron turned to see a smoking revolving in Haas' hands.

"I'm afraid that's not happening, Sergeant Gunther. Goodbye."

Haas shot Aaron subsequently, turning to relax and yawn out on his balcony. Tanks blockaded every route of escape from Oc Dao, cutting off any possible plan he had thought of, except one. He laughed for a few moments at the burning town before him in complete nonchalance. He turned around to grab the Federation uniform that his prisoner had. Headlong into him came the wounded Aaron Gunther, pushing both of them off the balcony into the courtyard below before his face could even turn to shock.

"You son of a bitch!"

Aaron snatched up the revolver, kicking Haas in the face and pulling himself up on the fountain behind him. Squads Two and Six emerged from the buildings they had raided, both empty handed and embarrassed as they saw Gunther standing over Haas. Colonel Ustinov emerged from one of the Gallian tanks in the area, striding towards Gunther as he aimed down at Haas, as did the squad leaders of Two and Six.

"Sir, no sign of Doctor Ivanov in the lab. None of his research or equipment could be found in there either. We're too late to bag him."

"Likewise, the bunker was devoid of any of Haas' officers or intel. They pulled out hours ago."

Ustinov smiled and shook his head at what the squad-leaders had to say, slowly kneeling down to Haas who was writhing in pain from his fall.

"So, this is Haas? Good to finally meet you, my name's Ted. You know what Ted rhymes with, Haas?"

Haas looked up and began laughing at Colonel Ustinov, reaching into his holster and pointing up at the Colonel's face.

"Dead, you Gallian bastard!"

Haas pulled on the air for a few moments as everyone else around laughed at Haas' futile attempts to shoot with his missing gun. Aaron, still holding onto his wound, began to do sleight of hand tricks with the revolver which he fully intended to keep as a trophy like the R-38.

"Actually I was referring to you, Haas. Sergeant Gunther, finish him."

"What? With all due respect Colonel-"

"These orders come all the way from the Archduchess, Sergeant. Haas is to be eliminated the moment he is subdued."

Aaron slowly began to aim for Haas' head, his hands beginning to tremble from his wound and his shock that the Archduchess of all people would put such an order out, especially so on a fellow Darcsen. He surrendered himself to think about the morals he had been raised with by his parents, wondering if he was even capable of pulling the trigger on someone who was wounded and already neutralized from the battle.

"Sergeant, I gave you an order. Kill Haas."

Aaron turned his head away, blowing Haas' lower jaw and throat into a bloody mess on the tiling of the villa's courtyard. One of the other soldiers emerged, hyperventilating with a small blue explosive not much larger than a grenade in his hands.

"Sir!"

"How's it feel to be a hero now, Sergeant Gunther? You'll get over it, back in my day that was standard procedure for any severely injured hostile… Damn conventions now-a-days."

"Sir! We've found one of the stolen warheads!"

"What is it now Private? What's this?"

The Colonel inspected the warhead, noting its specifications stenciled into its shell. It was indeed one of the Federation's missing weapons.

"Call in the disposal team, we have a problem here. If the ALF, or what's left of it, has access to Ragna warheads, there's no telling what they might try."

The soldier saluted and went off of contact the radio operator. Ustinov turned to Aaron again.

"Like I said, your father will be proud of your accomplishment today. I expect the Archduchess may wish to thank you in person for this."

Aaron feigned a positive response to the Colonel's praise, standing inert as the medic began to apply Ragnaid to his wound to stop his bleeding. To his luck he managed to survive the explosive round shot at him by it passing through him completely before it detonated. From his guess, Stahl was not so lucky.

"Why of course, sir!"

"How about this, if you're still alive on Tuesday, I'll put you on leave for the next whole week."

"Of course sir, I'd be honored."

Captain Conte turned the corner into the villa to see what was going on, his face reddened from the build-up of everything that had occurred during what was to be his operation.

"I see we failed to capture the man who could tell us everything. Where the hell is Stahl?"

"Stahl? Oh shit he-"

Dahl along with a stretcher team began to pass by Conte and Gunther, forcing them to jog to keep up with Stahl. Dahl checked on Stahl's vitals, concluding he was a complete flatliner now. No pulse came from him, his heartbeat could not be felt, no response or activity stirred from him.

"What the hell happened Gunther? Why is our engineer dead?"

"He got shot. With one of these."

Aaron removed a round from the revolver's chamber, revealing the specially tipped rounds Haas used.

"Ragnite tipped rounds. Fancy. I'll have them sent for analysis at RnD. Nice find. Squad Nine, we are RTB now."

Aaron gave on last look at Stahl's shredded corpse. After yesterday he felt like he would lose his nerve if he saw another dead Gallian out here. The medics quietly discarded Stahl into a bodybag like he was just a statistic. He may have been an asshole, but he was still a human-being, and that put him at least one rung higher than the caste of soldiers known to every veteran in Avietan as the FNGs.

All of Squad Nine piled into their APC, sitting down to contemplate the borderline-failed mission by Conte's standards. Regardless of what the Colonel considered to be 'Mission Accomplished', they knew they were going to be taking hell from Conte over what had happened. Conte stood up in the front, ready to debrief the squad.

"Complete and utter failure, gentlemen! Uncountable civilian casualties from indiscriminate bombardment. One of us KIA. The HVT was killed instead of captured. I ought to have the two of you court-martialed for the firing squad!"

"Sir, with all due respect-"

"I don't want to hear it! Now shut the fuck up until we're back in base! Now, if either of you decides to interrupt my prayers I sure-as-hell will have you two court-martialed for insubordination!"


	6. Chapter 5 - In Wollcroft's Shadow

**Author's note:** Well, after a long session of listening to a loop of the Illusive Man's theme, typing this up from the paper it was written on and the editing+Revision to go along with it, I finally got this ready for posting. Whether you enjoy it or not, please review. Now, onto the next few chapters I have written to type up and revise... See you guys soon™.

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Chapter 5 – "In Wollcroft's Shadow"

Isara stood up on the balcony of the apartment, staring down into the Fhirald streets at all the civilians who seemed like insignificant specks to her from both her literal view of them and of her personal philosophy on almost anyone who wasn't one of her superiors. As the clock in the city of Ulvhode struck midnight she slipped her sunglasses on, turning towards Luger who was inspecting the new 9mm rounds he had been working on based off of Haas' Ragnite-tipped magnum rounds. She smiled at the Darcsen for barely a few moments before looking back down on the Fhiraldians again who were shuffling about their daily lives.

"Isara, step down from that railing, you're going to fall and break your neck."

"Only if I screw up, mind you, Luger. I need to be down there as quick as possible when I sight Wollcroft."

"We're three stories up, Isara. The fall will kill you. But hey, in other news, my Ragnite bullets are amazing! Check these out… Isara?"

Luger turned around the look at the vacant balcony, with Isara gone sans a trace of her. No noise cued her disappearance to Luger as he looked in confusion. Down in the streets below, Isara blended in with the pedestrians instantly. Without a second-notice from anyone she loaded a magazine full of Ragnite bullets into the pistol hidden behind her coat in preparation for a possible confrontation. Wollcroft was already known as dangerous, murdering in ways that had befuddled forensics experts responsible for trying to convict her to the point she was released due to a lack of evidence. For some reason or another the former RnD director at StateInt, Dr. Ivanov, had been interested in Wollcroft for quite some time, and with the recent turn of events Gallia wanted to make sure Ivanov wouldn't try something involving Wollcroft.

Isara slipped in a few meters behind Wollcroft as she left the metro station, knowing her instantly from her description not many, if any, other Fhiraldians held. It was child's play to track Wollcroft like this. Her irises held a dull crimson shade; her hair a silvery-white tone like it had been bleached. The clothes she typically wore were practically the trademark of an urban militant, her leather jacket having more than enough pockets on it to store gear and ammunition, with room to slip in Kevlar to boot. Just the sight of her told you she was an obvious revolutionary, and it was a wonder why she was acquitted of all the charges against her by the puppet-government in Fhirald.

But it seemed Isara was not alone in stalking Wollcroft, it occurred to Isara as two Darcsen men began to closely trail Wollcroft themselves as they left an alleyway Wollcroft had passed. Under their coats were stripped-down MAGS that were none more than a skeleton that could fit almost invisible under good enough clothing. Isara tightened her distance, readying herself for a fight as one of the Darcsen men muttered 'For Haas' to the other. Wollcroft gave a slight peek of suspicion to the noise and immediately stole away into the next alley.

"Psst. Hey, darkhairs."

The two Darcsens turned around as they were midway into the alley, now distracted by Isara's disturbance. Wollcroft used the time to speed-walk to the next street to get away in the Darcsens' frustration.

"Who's this? Get her!"

Isara fired off a single shot at one of the Darcsens with her internally-suppressed pistol. The bullets worked three-fold on its victims, borderline illegal to various Europan treaties. Once in the skin, the Ragnite exploded into hundreds of fragments, ruining organs as they got torn to shreds. Ragnite mixed into the bloodstream and poisoned the victim, bringing the same effects as a Ragnide gassing in the victim. If even those two didn't already kill them, the electrical arcing from the Ragnite dispersing around the body would be more than enough to cause heart failure at worst and fifteen whole seconds of stunned paralysis to leave them for another shot. All of those effects for a whole ten Ducats just to produce a single round of it.

The Darcsen collapsed, smashing his head on the concrete. Isara closed in, breaking the other's neck instead of using the prohibitively expensive Calamity Rounds as Luger called them. There was no time to interrogate either of the Darcsens on why they were after Wollcroft, she was already moving too fast as it was. As Isara regained sight of Wollcroft she noticed Wollcroft was carrying a slightly-oversized briefcase with herself. It didn't matter to her right now, she'd figure it out later when she was actually at the Fhirald Independence League rally she was headed to. Isara resumed her chase, weaving through the civilians enjoying the night.

After successfully managing to track Wollcroft without her noticing so for the past thirty minutes Wollcroft finally arrived to her destination, an abandoned metro station on the western outskirts of the city. A few of the rebels sat around the staircase going down, openly showing themselves armed with MAGS and other Gallian munitions that had been stolen during the confusion of the Gallian Civil War which had turned out to be the greatest thing that had ever happened for criminal arms-dealers in Europa. Wollcroft entered the station with ease, the Fhiraldian rebels doing their damnedest to get out of her way. Isara waited a few moments from the shadows and followed in suit, only to meet the guards coming to alert at the sight of her.

"Check the bitch in the sunglasses, Joseph doesn't want to risk any Imperial spies getting in. Dibs on any jewelry she has."

One of the guards began patting down Isara with a perverted smile, checking her for any wires or guns, but most importantly valuables to steal. After barely five seconds he tore Isara's poorly concealed pistol from her pocket, holding it out for the others to see. The other guards readied guns as the one who had been talking marched over to Isara.

"What's this? Who are you!?"

Isara sighed, looking around at the rebels pointing their guns at her. They all looked like the generic mob gangster stereotype that Fhirald had become known for. Leather jackets, black-denim pants, golf caps, and leather gloves cut off at the fingers. But like any mob, they were a gullible bunch.

"I'm not even going to tell you to shut up, Sergey."

The guard backed up, taking his cap off and slightly bowing as he heard his name, unaware of the fact she had heard one of the other guards say it when the woman before her was eavesdropping on them. The others went back to smoking and keeping watch, disappointed by the false alarm. Isara yanked her pistol back, putting it back in her coat in a more hidden spot this time.

"I'm sorry my comrade, I didn't recognize you with those sunglasses. Just been on edge with the Imperials cracking down lately."

"Fine then, but Imperial spies are going to be the least of your worries if someone notices you carrying weapons, especially Gallian ones in the open like that."

"No true patriot of Fhirald will sell us out to the Imperials, besides, corpses can't call the collaborationists oppressing us all anyway."

Isara descended into the station, passing armories, torture rooms, and makeshift homes for resistance members. She looked around for a few moments, checking to see if any of the guards had followed her in, and then immediately pulled out her handheld radio.

"Luger, I'm in their little safehouse now. Should have everything I need before the hour's out. Make sure extraction is ready before then, looks like some Darcsens still loyal to Haas are planning on hitting this place if I'm guessing correctly."

"Roger tha- Wait, where the hell have you been, Isara?"

"I went downstairs and tracked Wollcroft like we were both supposed to. If you were awake when Vice-Director O'Hara gave us our mission you might be aware of that."

"Ugh, either way, you're going to get yourself killed doing those movie stunts of yours. Seriously, jumping down three stor-"

Isara cut off the radio, pocketing it again. A few of the resistance soldiers passed by, dumping their MAGS' and R-38s on the weapon racks lining the wall. Isara cut in behind them, following them down to the metro platform where the rally was being held. Down there the masses shuffled around on the tracks and platform like vermin to spilled water in the darkness. Up above on the bridge crossing over the tracks various FIL officers assembled themselves, looking down at the overflowing mass of followers which looked like an army of unsophisticated rats to Isara. Be it the lack of shaving or the poorly sewn-together leather coats, they all looked like more of a barbaric horde to Isara than an organized revolution.

Wollcroft gave a peek over the railing, staring down into Isara's eyes as if she was piercing through her sunglasses. She swiveled her view around to the others, with a face completely devoid of any emotion until she returned her sight to Isara who was already mixing into the crowd well. She turned around to one of the other officers, focusing her crimson eyes on his, pushing aside any of her silk-white hair that swung from the speed of her turn.

"She must have followed me here. I've seen that face too recently but not once before."

The other officer, Joseph, smiled at Wollcroft, placing his hand upon her shoulder which she immediately shoved off in disgust.

"New people join our cause every waking day and hour, I assure you she is not an enemy of our struggle. Would your brother have approved of you looking on a comrade with suspicion like this?"

"Perhaps he would, but he most certainly does not approve of you bringing him into this conversation, which in no way honors him or any of the others who have fallen in our battle against the Imperials. But that woman… I am more than convinced she is a spy, and had there not been a crowd here, I would have turned her to ash in an instant. Regardless, she trailed me here, that alone makes her no better than a spy."

"You have little care for anyone, do you Nicole? Don't act like that, how else is someone to find us? Ask around until the secret-police take notice of-"

Wollcroft lunged at Joseph, grabbing him around the throat and staring deeply into his eyes as she formulated her next response. The General turned his head towards the two, unimpressed by Wollcroft's conduct before he went back to his business.

"A lesser mind would likely of destroyed you for what you just said, Joseph… But I do care, for the General, for Nikolai, and for you…"

She backed off, pulling out a small radio and nodding towards the General who nodded back in his deer-skull mask. The radio gave an ear-piercing shriek as she depressed the push-to-talk button.

"Security, keep watch on a female wearing sunglasses and a red scarf around her neck. Once the speeches are over, bag her and bring her over to my office for personal interrogation. If she tries running lethal-force is mandated. Failures will be sent home in an envelope."

"Nicole, threatening the lance upon our own people is not how to raise morale-"

"I have no use for those driven by feelings and emotion. The General knew that when he took me in under his care."

"Why wouldn't he? You were like his daughter, his favorite while your brother did all the work and died for the cause."

"Joseph, do not push your luck any further. It is because of me that you are where you are now, do not forget that. I could just as easily cremate you as I can anyone else. Do you understand that?"

Joseph fell back in shame, looking down at the tiling of the floor below him. Wollcroft gave an angered gaze at him, her eyes of crimson threatening to shudder him if he dared to look up at her.

"Understood. I'd be an idiot to offend again."

Wollcroft departed from Joseph, tired of his disrespect, but noting that he had emboldened himself from the fear he once held of her. As she went to speak with the General she noticed Nikolai was already talking with him on urgent matters.

"General, I fear the Calamity Ravens may attack in retaliation for their leadership getting whacked."

"Say no more of it, Nikolai, they are none more than shadows of their predecessors."

Wollcroft cut in between Nikolai, grabbing the General's attention. Nikolai saluted, taking his position on the stage in front of Fhirald's old pre-Imperial flag. Joseph followed suit, standing next to where Wollcroft's position would be.

"My lord, we are ready to begin."

"Nicole, are you sure that you would wish for your secret to be known? As much as it may boost morale, I fear others may expect much more of you, never mind that the Imperials may put much more pressure on us if they find out."

"This isn't an issue of morale, my lord, such matter is irrelevant. This is a matter of loyalty to our cause. Many of our cause are already devout followers of Yggdism. Would they dare, or even so much to think of crossing someone they practically worship as a god?"

"I see, Nicole… Well, shall we not stall any longer?"

Wollcroft and the General took their positions on the stage, looking down at the crowd of various con-men, murderers, and other lower-caste citizens of Fhirald that fought for their nation's independence from the Empire. The General cleared his throat and began his speech in a booming voice that felt like it was coming from inside people's skulls.

"Sons and daughters of Fhirald, the time is almost upon us to strike back at the Imperials occupying our homeland! Soon we will ascend from mere hiding and bring the Empire their reckoning. No more will we be slaves to the foreigners leeching from our soil."

As the General rested his voice Nikolai continued on with his own portion.

"Those who oppose our cause will be struck down like filth in the gutter. No Empire, no Federation, no Coalition, and no Darcsen will dictate the fate of our sovereignty. Those days are no more!"

Nikolai eased himself, letting Joseph take over with rehearsed perfection.

"We must strike without warning, with the united soul of every son and daughter of Fhirald with no mercy to the foreign hordes! We shall reclaim our domain and purge all enemies of the revolution! We shall take up our arms and pay the Emperor his due!"

Wollcroft gave a moment, scanning around at the cheering crowd below, their fists raised diagonally into the air, all of the chanting 'Independence, sovereignty, freedom!' in unison. She smiled for a moment, silencing the crowd as she began to speak almost directly into the crowd's souls.

"And with the power of the Valkyrur we shall smite them if they so much as dare to prod at us like cattle. The azure flame will melt flesh from bone, bone to ashes, and ashes to dust! All those who cross the revolution shall be wiped from existence for their insult to the Valkyrur! Know this, people of Fhirald, this is a holy revolution, and all who make themselves our enemies are committing suicide through the act of doing so!"

The four resistance officers backed off stage, turning to eachother to shake hands. They all knew "Holy revolution" was a load of crap, Wollcroft especially, but what better way to gain the people's loyalty? A smile seemed to form behind the General's deer-skull mask as he shook Wollcroft's hand.

"My lord, when shall we launch our first strike?"

"That is not for us to decide, my dear Nicole. The people of Fhirald as a whole will know when the time has come to rise up."

"But my lord, with my power-"

"We cannot come to rely on that power, Nicole. People will try to exploit you for it yet again. I knew of someone just like you years ago, back when we had a chance to achieve our independence without shedding blood like we are now. Our enemies exploited her for it like she was nothing more than their superweapon, sending her to her death the moment that had something even better. I will not allow that to happen to you, Nicole…"

"I understand, my lord. Now, if I may deal with the issue of the spy." Wollcroft sullenly replied from hearing _that_ story yet again.

Isara began to filter through the crowd, avoiding any prying eyes following her. The crowd kept cheering on, some of them reciting Yggdist prayers, and not a single one of them dispersing as Isara began her retreat. Ski-mask clad guards began to emerge from the edges of the crowd, loading wheel-magazines into their MAGS' as they fanned out to find Isara. Isara unclicked her pistol's safety and turned on her radio to call for Luger as she noticed this.

"Immediate extraction, now. Have all necessary intel, but cover is compromised."

"Uh, roger, just keep your radio on so I can triangulate your transmission, oh yeah, and don't die first."

Isara kept to the crowd as she moved, knowing they wouldn't fire on their own people. One of the guards kept alternating yelling "Halt!" and "Ostanovit!" towards Isara as he placed his hand straight up in the air to signal her to stop. Isara, of course, kept on moving, pulling herself up to the platform from the tracks.

Nikolai slammed the butt-end of his MAGS into Isara's face and grabbed her by her jacket-collar, throwing her to the floor as several guards and Wollcroft swarmed around, aiming their rifles collectively at her as she got back up.

"That's enough, Nikolai. You three, take her with me, everyone else is free to return to their duties."

Nikolai looked at Isara for a few moments, noticing the red scarf wrapped around her neck. A nightmarish flashback of the battle of Naggiar came to him as he struggled to not pull out his pistol and simply blow Isara's head off until he finally came to his senses that this wasn't the person he was thinking of.

"Make no mistake, Nicole, this person's trouble… Real trouble. Keep your wits about you."

"As if I didn't deduce that on my own, Nikolai."

Two of the guards restrained Isara, pushing her to follow Wollcroft as she went to her office. The place here was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the metro station, but it was expected. Someone like Wollcroft or the other officers certainly wouldn't allow themselves to live in the filth that the rest of the people were living in anyway.

"Now, whoever you are, pardon Nikolai's rude demeanor to halting you, but I have some questions of you…"

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**Author's note: **Hey, completely unrelated question, but is it just me, or does David Mason (Yes, the COD one) in his casual clothes hold a slight resemblance to Welkin Gunther (In casual clothing)? Maybe it's just the clothing that made me think that, but whatever.


	7. Chapter 6 - Sins of the Past

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hey, sorry for such the delay guys, had a lot of things to take care of over the past several days, and after all this is just a hobby. Anyway, I'll be picking up progress soon enough. That, and inbetween culling an entire chapter that looked more like it belonging in "GTA: Gallia" than this and an extensive rewrite of the one below, things got a little slow to publish. Progress should pick up after this, so hope you guys enjoy. Also, don't forget to Leave a Review if you can

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Chapter 6 – Sins of the Past

"I do apologize for my Lieutenant's mistreatment of you, miss...?"

Isara looked up from the table that the guards had handcuffed her to, staring into Wollcroft's crimson eyes, ignorant of her paled skin and silver hair. Wollcroft's leather coat served only to aid the black void encompassing her in Isara's eyes.

"You're the host, why don't you introduce yourself first?"

"Subject C-27, is that good enough for you?" She smiled, concealing any truthful emotion of the name's weight, "And what of you, Spy?"

Isara held silent, thinking of how to buy herself time until Luger arrived. With that in mind she was glad Luger shunned his Darcsen identity, everyone here would probably lynch a Darcsen on sight. Wollcroft paced around the desk, ripping Isara's sunglasses off her face with the greatest impatience. To the other guards' confusion, Wollcroft stared into Isara's bare and unhidden blood-red eyes with a certain shock gripping her face.

"This can't be- Nikolai, alert the General that we may have a situation. Terrance, stay outside with weapons ready. Everyone else, return to posts."

"Of course, my comrade. You three, you heard her!"

Isara turned around, scanning at the face of the one she had referred to as Nikolai. His hair was jet black, his beard covered his face as if he had not shaved in at least a month. It looked like an easy fire-hazard for the cigarette he was smoking. It was then that Isara realized the true irony of referring to Darcsens as 'Dark-hairs' when there were plenty of light-haired Darcsens and even more non-Darcsens with hair that was pitch black compared to any Darcsen.

"You talked tough about Darcsens but you look more Darcsen than half of the Darcsens in Fhirald."

Nikolai pistol whipped Isara, leaving the room mumbling about how 'Nicole's father would tear apart anyone who dared to compare a Fhiraldian to a Darcsen'. It was obvious that idea didn't work out too well. Angering him enough to lash out would delay Wollcroft's interrogation long enough, and thus extend her life. It wasn't like he would dare kill Isara when he was told not to and was right in front of the person who said so, and at that someone who was bragging about how they could turn people to ash or even less. Wollcroft sat down, sighing to herself as she shook her head.

"…And there he goes again, acting like my father would have been a good man for the revolution."

"Tyermaillin Wollcroft, one of the three soldiers of the Azurblauterzett, and the only one to survive the Second Europan War while General Bles and another who's name escapes me went out in an explosive blaze of glory and a hail of MAGS rounds from every angle, respectively. Only for him to be killed by a single bullet to the head from a well-trained assassin? Ty the Immortal I think not."

"Don't you dare mention him!"

"Truth be told I didn't think there really were male-valkyria, but to be honest if the files didn't directly classify him as such I'd have assumed he was nothing more than some pathetic jackass who carried unhealthy amounts of Ragnaid on himself."

"There are no 'male valkyria'! The term for males is valkyrur! Grammar is everything!" Wollcroft yelled, noting the dictionary on the shelf behind her as her face began to become red with exasperation.

"Sorry to disrupt your little party, Ms. Grammar-Elite, anyway, you're obviously a Valkyria because of him… But, one of the major components can only be passed down by the mother… And assuming your mother had any of the traits, I'd assume that makes you exceptionally dangerous. And exceptionally cocky too. You can quit with that codename, 'C-27', I've read an entire file on you, Nicole Wollcroft."

Wollcroft's eyes jumped to attention at the name, almost insulted by Isara's bluntness. Her hand slowly moved down to her holster, ready to rip it out and empty its loaded magazine into Isara.

"On the contrary. C-27 is the legal name your government effectively gave us when they sold us off to that wretch Foerster and her shady little medical firm!"

Isara held herself back from smiling as she heard Wollcroft's fatal slip. This was by all means the greatest opportunity that had come up for her to keep Wollcroft distracted by herself for as long as she needed. Wollcroft had already managed to crack her emotional shell all by herself, why would someone like Isara not want to press her more? The worst that could happen is that Wollcroft would lose it and have her beheaded, after all, worse things could happen than quick death. Besides, all Isara had to do at this point was play The Shrink until Luger arrived to handle the situation. That, or as Isara noted, simply handle it herself with her one free hand as 'Those idiotic excuses for guards forget to check for weapons'.

"I look into your eyes, and I know exactly what you are, Spy. You and I are alike, yet I have never seen you once before. I never saw someone such as yourself in the prison my late brother and I had been held in. Would you care to explain how you somehow were not taken for their experiments by Foerster and Ivanov's men?"

"Slipped through? Debatable. I got to know Ivanov for some time, that's how I have the job I have now. And, you truly are grammar-elite, if I may note."

"Indeed, I suppose I have Foerster to thank for that. Still, you didn't spend your childhood as someone's experiment. You had a name, not a number.

"You're right. A seven-digit ID is certainly a name compared to a two-digit one. Nah, just messing with you."

Wollcroft sat silent, ignoring what Isara had just said as she contemplated on her memories of the facility. Isara looked, trying not to smile as Wollcroft continued to forget the fact she had made a massive slip and effectively failed any attempt at interrogation she had planned before she could even start. Rule one of torture and interrogation, be anonymous, be an unknown. This was practically Isara's perfect chance at escape and embarrassing who might very well be the most powerful Valkyria since Selvaria Bles. Maybe it was for the best that Isara didn't get to see whether or not that hypothesis was correct though.

"Tell me about this facility you were in, Nicole. It must have been horrible…"

Wollcroft's face gripped with horror again as she thought about it and looked into Isara's eyes. What remained of her poker-face was completely disintegrated by thinking about it. It was then that Isara realized how wrong her hypothesis was. Wollcroft was weak. Wollcroft was… Inferior. Inferior by all ways that could be possible.

"Drugs, needles, everything. Injecting small Ragnite crystals into our veins, or stick us in a contained room with burning Ragnite to test physical reactions. Some died from Ragnite poisoning or rapidly developing cancer soon after. I didn't know what they wanted. Was it to test some new version of Ragnaid, or to make the ultimate soldier?" Wollcroft shook her head thinking about it.

"Oh, that must have been _horrible_ to endure." Isara replied, forcing herself not to use a sarcastic tone and ruin the progress she had made so far. It was getting harder and harder for her to withhold even the slightest hint of a smile that could give a subtle clue to Wollcroft's failure.

"I couldn't trust anyone there. The others were older than me, my late brother included. The doctors were all complete assholes, the only reason they remotely cared for our well-being was to make sure we were still useful for collecting data. They'd pretty everything up whenever Gallian inspectors came in, but the moment they left town it would be business as usual yet again. One by one most of the others died from their experiments, be it from lethal Ragnite poisoning or once even from spontaneous combustion. And just like that they were discarded like they never existed. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a mass-grave somewhere in Gallia where they dumped the bodies. Most of the others were just completely innocent orphans, a few of them were teenager who had highly above-average physical traits expressed, like exceptional resilience or near-instant reaction times."

A tear began to fill Wollcroft's eyes as she started to think about what she had to say next. Isara coughed, trying her damnedest to mask the laugh that had came out as she saw Wollcroft slowly break down into tears. Isara was beginning to doubt if it was worth it to hide how hilarious this all was, after all, was Wollcroft even paying attention to her, or was she penned up and lost in her dark memories? Memories and emotion, Isara noted, had no place in war, and Wollcroft was living proof of that notion.

"Fourteen years ago I escaped narrowly when Foerster deemed me redundant and ordered that I was eliminated, although that was probably because I was too powerful for her lust for control. Back then I didn't know who- Or more importantly, what I was. I was a fugitive with no past of my own, left to wander in search of answers and a home. About five arrests for vagrancy later fate took me to Fhirald, where I met The General at a peaceful rally wanting secession from the Empire which needless to say ended in a lot of dead civilians. Not long after that, The General told me that he had realized who I was when looking through old records of one of his Lieutenants who by coincidence of fate was my father." Wollcroft's emotions slowly turned to an embarrassing facepalm as she recollected what she remembered about him.

"Turns out when I finally met him he was just some slobbering drunk albino bastard who wasted his time in some cockroach-filled pub telling hyperbolized stories about the Second Europan War about how he wiped out entire units singlehandedly and survived multiple hits that would instantly kill everyone else around him. I remember the story I heard him telling was about some time in Kloden at night where he hunted down and slain two Gallians and a mole who helped them – After he got shot in the head twice and shelled by his commander's poorly aimed artillery. Needless to say he didn't count on me factchecking his stories with a read-through of that one Irene Koller book, forgot what it was called though. By the time I tried to actually talk to him though, he yelled at me about how he never had any children, that he had no recognition of me, and then screamed at me to leave him alone for being some 'stupid vagrant trying to scam the hero of the Empire'. Some 'Ty the Immortal' he was, more like 'Ty the Disgrace'." She shook her head, completely embarrassed to think someone like that was her father. She could only imagine if her mother was any better.

"I shot myself after that, after all, what was there in this world to live for? That, and I found out my mother was some spoils-of-war trophy from the takeover and occupation of Vasel. Turns out fate disagreed. Not much later The General gave me the truth of what I was and began mentoring me like one he had known before. Now, here I am, second in command of the rebellion to free what has become my home."

"Well, thanks for all that pointless exposition, Wollcroft. I'll make sure you're used as an example of the exact opposite of how to conduct an interrogation. Not that I can support your rebellion either, it'd be awful to see my grandfather Jonathan's work in helping to bring Fhirald under Imperial control – A cause he died fighting for go to waste because of some Gallian expat who found out her illegitimate father was Fhiraldian." Isara couldn't help it any more. This entire time was so embarrassing to her training – to see someone utterly fail when they have the upper hand of their enemy being handcuffed along with having the home field advantage. Big mistake, with fortunate timing in retrospect.

Wollcroft perked up, realizing the ruse set by Isara. Her pistol swung up, a few centimeters separating the end of its barrel from Isara's forehead. Her eyes slowly began to glow with rage as how blatantly obvious Isara's ploy was.

"But enough of this distraction. I don't have all night, do I? Enough answers, it's time for me to ask the questions!"

"Ask away then, I haven't got no answers to give you." Isara said, smug as she noticed the safety on Wollcroft's pistol was on – and jammed.

"How brave of you to spit a double-negative in my face, you Imperial pig!" Wollcroft yelled, getting ready to depress the trigger.

"I don't recall saying I was an Imperial, I just said my grandfather was." Isara said, laughing at Wollcroft's continued incompetence on par with a villain in a cheesy comedy.

"And whom would that be?" Wollcroft nearly screamed, growing more and more impatient and restless by the second.

"You can just call him Lieutenant Colonel Jonathan Melchiott, Imperial Army under the command of General Gregor, now not that you'll have much luck identifying me through his name, seeing as his only recorded family was his wife who was a civilian casualty of a Federation raid into the Empire, but You wanted an answer, so there you go, and like I said, I haven't got no answers to hide from Ms. Grammar-Elite."

"I might have fallen for your little mind-trick, but do you think I was stupid enough to get fooled by your run-on sentence, Melchiott?!" Wollcroft pistol-whipped Isara twice from both sides, leaving massive bruises on Isara's face as she lost herself to a rage brought on by Dr. Foerster's short-tempered upbringing of her, "Noone is coming to help you. If you don't mind answering one last question before I have you strung up for the others to see."

"Like I said, I haven't got- Alright then, ask away! You've made your point!" Isara yelled, feigning defeat from Wollcroft's heavy-handed melee. Not that it mattered, inbetween lies, Isara's counter-interrogation training, and the earlier distraction, Wollcroft's interrogation of her had gone, and would go nowhere.

"What a nice scarf that is you have around on your neck… I take it someone close to you gave it as a gift? It'd be a shame if they heard you went missing In Fhirald. Care to tell me who gave it to you so I can deliver the unfortunate news in person?" Wollcroft said, relaxing herself into a sadistic tone as she began to assume she had the advantage.

"Well, Wollcroft, if you really did fact-check your father's stories, as well as listened to one of your lieutenants, you might know who this scarf belonged to. Don't like that answer, why don't you just shoot me?" Isara said, smiling as she heard the sound of someone getting punched outside the door.

Isara grabbed her sunglasses off of the desk with her one free hand, putting them back on before Luger could break in, swinging into her coat to grab her pistol and shoot off her cuffs in one swift motion as Wollcroft fumbled with her poorly-maintained excuse for a pistol. Just as quickly the door broke down to Luger's boot, bringing with it the momentum for him to bring his own gun to Wollcroft's chest. Isara shrugged, standing up to point her own pistol that the guards failed to search for at Wollcroft, just as ready to pull the trigger as Luger was.

"Don't even think of dodging! We're taking you back to Gallia, Wollcroft, dead or alive!" Isara yelled, noting a certain irony to what she had just said.

"You wouldn't dare!" Wollcroft gave a piercing scream, clenching her fists and jaw, readied to fight. The azure glow of the Valkyrur enveloped Wollcroft, her iris turning from a dull crimson to a blinding glow of red like blood spurting out of someone who'd just been shot. In a blur she threw the desk to the side, lunging past Luger straight towards Isara. Isara sighed with what little time she had, felling the careless yet powerful Valkyria with a single uppercut to her chin.

"Thanks for showing up, Luger. Grab her and get ready to put us on the next ride to Fouzen." Isara monotonously said to Luger as he looked down on Wollcroft's body as she rapidly lost consciousness from the pain of nearly having her neck broken by the angle of Isara's punch.

"So, this is the legendary Valkyrur? I never thought I'd ever see one. Or that one would be so… Soft."

"Watch your grammar, Luger, she nearly killed me over a spelling mistake. Valkyrur refers to the males, Valkyria refers to the females. Remember that so she doesn't break her cuffs and snap your neck when we get around to interrogating her." Isara said, laughing. Luger shook his head, sticking cuffs onto Wollcroft's hands as Isara yawned.

With that she walked off, smiling at Luger's impressive non-lethal handiwork on the guards occupying the hallway, Nikolai included. She laughed to herself in a menacing tone for a moment, thinking about Luger's comment. '_Oh Luger, so so oblivious to your own partner…'_.


	8. Chapter 7 - The Jerithian Offensive

**NOTE:** Sorry for the massive delay, guys. I'm such a terrible procrastinator when it comes to revising and editing. For one, I'm going to answer a question posed in a review. Yes, this is taking some ques from that war and the Vietnam war, but however I'm trying to avoid the Second Jerithian War being too much of an analog of any real war. Also, to make it up to you guys, I'll be doing a codex chapter that explains any terms I've added that had no relevance to the original VC trilogy so far, like new guns, locations, ect. I might consider doing character bios (With faux-potentials just because), but right now I'm presently leaning against the idea to avoid leaning too far towards telling instead of showing.

Also, if the base of viewers gets large enough, then I might possibly consider doing a lemon, of course in a way that doesn't detract from the plot of course and isn't just there purely for fanservice. If I'm going to do a lemon, I want it to feel relevant to the story and character development. Personally I hate lemons that are just there purely for the sake of boners and pointless 50-shades erotica. I promise you, if I ever do a lemon in this story, it is going to be in a way that helps the story become more mature, and serve the story. But that's IF this gets a large enough base of viewers. I don't want to risk losing viewcount from raising the rating, hell, I'm bordering on something that should have had a higher rating from the start.

But with no further ado, here is the long awaiting Chapter 7, delayed purely because of my laziness.

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Chapter 7 – The Jerithian Offensive

With Haas firmly out of the picture Gallia began to focus its force on directly assisting the Federation against Jerithia's army. Weakened from fighting the ALF, the Federation and Gallia suffered multiple humiliating defeats at the hand of the Jerithian Army. By the 27th of November, a mere four days after Haas' declared death, the Jerithian invasion force was less than one hundred kilometers from Avietan's capital, slaughtering anyone who wasn't one of their men in an effort to "purify" the land of anyone who was not of Darcsen or Jerithian blood.

Alan held his Yggdist spiral pendant to his chest as the pounding of shells began to explode down the street next to him. He threw a hasted thumbs-up at his squad hyperventilating in the opposite alleyway ten meters away as he cocked his ZM-AP7 for what may have been the most daring thing he'd ever done in his career outside of a tank. The Jerithian bastards down the road began to advance, putting their loaded- for-bear shocktroopers on point, ready to anything that moved with their Ruhm-37 assault rifles into a red cloud of vapor. Alan gave himself a deep breath, regretting in advance what he was about to do. By the Valkyrur, he was a tank-commander, not a bloody shocktrooper. He gave his autopistol a glance, admiring it like it was the last thing he would ever do as he set himself into motion into the street.

"Valkyrur give me strength…"

The young captain slipped out of cover, not even bothering to aim as he sprayed every round he could from his 45-round magazine into the cluster of Jerithian soldiers, taking them down in an impossible stroke of luck he could only credit to his faith. Conte slammed into the brick wall of the opposite alley where his squad was waiting, which to his confusion was absent of the late Stahl and Sergeant Gunther who was enjoying his leave back in Gallia. In Stahl's place was a Darcsen in his mid-twenties, armed with a Gallian-S/F and an engineering kit.

"Oh Stahl would _just love _to know his replacement is a good for nothing dark-hair. What's your name, FNG?"

"Karlsson, sir. Lieutenant First-Class Karlsson."

"Care to tell us your full name, Lieutenant? Oh wait! Well, Karlsson, stay the hell out of our way and we won't have any problems! Sacrifice yourself so we don't have to and you might earn some respect… Hayes, get your damn lance on the APC before it deploys!"

Hayes remained silent, not even offering any sign of acknowledgement to his commander beyond his action. As ordered, he flipped around the corner and glanced down his lance's aimpoint to fire off a rocket straight through the armor into a Jerithian APC stopping in the middle of the street as it began to open its door. Big mistake, it must be noted. A few flaming survivors limped out with their last dying throws until either the flames or the hail of rounds from Squad Nine claimed their lives.

"Take that ya uncivilized sons a' bitches! Courtesy a' Gallia!" Dahl yelled as he emptied his Brondel DMR's nine-round magazine into the Jerithian squad.

Conte fired off a few rounds for a moment, putting together the name "Karlsson" in his head to try and figure out where he remembered that from. The rest of the squad continued to fire, burning through magazines one by one as an onslaught of Jerithian zealots continued to pour into the crosshairs. Just then as Karlsson ducked into cover where Conte had a clear view of his face did he remember where he remembered that name.

"Hell, Karlsson? That you? Remember me, from Class A at Lanseal?"

Karlsson ignored him, loading a new cylinder-magazine under the barrel of his KFM-Koyot as he prepared to fend off another wave until Conte would give them the suicidal attack orders he always gave to his detachment back on the Lanseal training grounds. At least Conte had the balls to do it himself instead of telling other squads to do it so he could take credit. No, that was an action their class chair would do, using the squad as one big distraction while she and her socially awkward right-hand flanked the entire enemy squad to take their camp without being noticed.

"Karlsson? Come on man! Talk to- Damnit!"

Conte loaded a new magazine into his autopistol, reminded of the situation by a Jerithian sniper round whizzing past his ear. In a few more seconds that rifle would be freshly loaded with another round, ready to take the head off of one of his men unless they got out of his line of sight. Conte formed a hand-signal with his free hand, directing his squad into the alleyway on the opposite end of the street out of the sniper's view. With a new wave of Jerithians approaching at the far end of the road the entire squad made a sprint to the opposite alleyway, sliding into one of the abandoned tenement buildings through the back door. Conte peeked through a bullet-hole in the wall in silence, watching as a Jerithian patrol ran past to the next street in pursuit of his squad – Or at least where they thought his squad went.

"Conte, that was ten years ago. We've all moved on since then – Except you of course. Some of us are out here for better reasons than all the jingoistic propaganda thrown at us since childhood." Karlsson finally responded, applying Ragnaid to Dahl right below his right lung, "Come on, Corporal, that sniper wasn't even aiming for you. There's no internal bleeding, at least not yet. The adrenaline should keep you going for now…"

Conte looked down at Karlsson and Dahl, shaking his head before he looked outside again. It was all going to hell now, whether he liked it or not. This entire war was a losing battle from the start, even more so because of the ALF's sabotage of the Europan reinforcements to Avietan. It begged the question of why Haas – A man obviously from Europa – was dipping his hand into this war with the sole intent on aiding the Jerithians by any way possible. Even worse, Haas was a Darcsen, the kind of man Conte would have expected to be completely passive through all of this. But worst of all –

"Major Keyes to all ground units. All ground units are to re-form and regroup on the third defensive line in preparation for retreat and enactment of Broken Lance protocol." A voice rang out from Conte's handheld. In an instant Conte's train of thought went from bad to worse in a dangerous mix of frustration and panic.

"Damnit! We're ready to advance here, and command is telling us to fall back!" Conte yelled out, forgetting the entire reason he moved his squad to hide in the building. Everyone else nodded, silently agreeing with Major Keyes' order, ignorant of Conte's demeanor, all except Karlsson.

"Disregard Major Keyes' order! We're advancing, whether or not the Major wants all his men being passive, and most certainly whether or not he appreciates us!" Conte continued, trying to piece himself together in what already looked to be a losing battle.

The rest of the squad paused, looking to Conte with disdain as he gave the contradictory order. Hayes and Dahl shook their heads, silently refusing the Captain's orders. As much of a hardliner as Conte was, Major Keyes was even worse when it came to discipline among the ranks. Noone ever dared insubordination against someone like Keyes, except for Conte of course who was at this point lucky he hadn't been demoted or discharged for the last time he disobeyed orders from Keyes.

"Fine! Then I'll do it then, even if you two cowards want to fall back to Keyes' little shell which will fall anyway if something isn't done!"

The Captain and the other two jumped to alert, looking to the disturbance. There he was, Lieutenant Karlsson, readying himself for a daredevil charge on the first enemy position his eyes would have the pleasure to meet. Dahl and Hayes gave their damnedest expression towards the Darcsen, wondering why he would even bother listening to the Captain's suicidal orders – physically and career-wise. Besides, it was true-and-tested fact that getting yourself killed and/or discharged wasn't an effective way to rise above FNG status, if not it made people think of someone as an FNG even more.

"…Well ladies! It seems a dark-hair has more balls than you two cowards! Don't you find it damned embarrassing when the Valkyrur find more promise in a Darcsen than you two!?" Conte exclaimed, trying to drum up the glory-hound inside of Dahl and Hayes.

"Terrific. The Yggdist and the Darcsen – Two sides of the same coin-of-batshit – want to go on their own little suicide mission. Fine, I'm in, going to die out here anyways. Might as well make it sooner rather than later. Hayes?" Dahl begrudgingly replied, forming up with Conte and Karlsson, as did Hayes silent as ever. Conte smiled, cocking his autopistol like it was music to his ears as the mechanical clicks of the slide cycled to chamber its first round.

"Fine, _Boss_. Ain't letting no Darcsen outdo me. Let's do this… Assuming we even has a plan…" Hayes finally said, clicking a new lance-tip onto his AT lance.

"Aww, and here I was hoping you'd keep the whole silent thing going… You disappoint me sometimes, Hayes, and that's not including the sheer amount of times you've been in the field-hospital during the times we needed a lancer most." Dahl interjected with not one hint of sarcasm despite the obvious intent.

Conte opened the door back out into the alleyway, breathing in the polluted Avietanese air as he formulated a rough idea of what he was going to do. With his only Shocktrooper presently on-leave without a replacement, a frontal assault was out of the question. The Koyot and the AP7 wouldn't stand up against the R-38s the Jerithians had, the only reason they had lasted so long was because they were on the defensive in close-quarters. However, if his studies at Lanseal on the typical lack of balance between defense and offense seen in the Second Europan War had taught him anything… It was the perfect plan, one that had even defeated the so-called infallible Lieutenant Gunther a handful of times thirty years ago… With recklessness abound in him, and a new resolve brought about by how enthusiastic the Jerithians were to move all their units to attack, Captain Alan Conte cried out with enthusiasm of an uncanny resemblance:

"Now is the time to strike the Jerithians down as they think victory is within their grasp! Squad Nine, MOVE OUT!"

The entire squad sprinted out of the alleyway, keeping a rolling motion as they unloaded into the unsuspecting force that occupied the street. Dahl pounced over a pile of freshly emplaced sandbags, crushing the windpipe of the unsuspecting engineer on the other side with a lightning kick. On his flank Conte engaged in a brief duel with the Jerithian rifleman before he could get any shots off at Dahl, easily dispatching him in CQC making use of his one-handed pistol advantage. Behind them, one of the Jerithian gunners pulled up on his LMG emplacement, laughing maniacally until a remote explosive thrown by Karlsson shut him up. In-between all that chaos, a single rocket glided past them all, penetrating the exposed radiator of a Jerithian tank that had its back to them, lighting the midnight sky into a blazing inferno as Squad Nine regrouped to the flow of adrenaline.

"That. Just. Happened. Badass!" Hayes roared out into an explosive pride, crying to, no, worshipping the blaze before him.

"Heh, wish Gunther was here to see this." Dahl said as he cracked his knuckles.

"Keep it down, both of you. Just be glad he isn't here to jinx us." Conte disagreed to Dahl's banter, holding back a smile on his own luck.

"What do you mean, 'he', Captain?" Karlsson asked as he pulled up from the sandbags he had slipped behind.

"Different Gunther. Less of a bitch, more of an idiot." Conte replied. "His record is hell. He's bad luck for everyone – What, with his excessive gambling." Conte sighed and straightened out his Khaki uniform, reminiscing on the stories he had heard about Aaron Gunther. "I heard a story during the First Jerithian War that he had a bet his squad would run into an ambush in the jungle. Needless to say, Snipers saw them first and he was the only damned survivor. Hell, more recently… Rest in peace Kowalski…" Conte looked around for any vehicles he could see, giving a hand signal for a five-meter spread down the street towards a forsaken Jerithian Technical Truck. "…Needless to say, you want to live, don't get involved in his gambling in any way. His gambling luck doesn't translate into anyone else's luck."

"I see… Why hasn't he been disciplined for gambling?" Karlsson asked, following five meters behind Dahl's lead.

"He has been, too many times. Last I heard no one wants to touch him though. Anyway, I bet you that if he showed up in some UCIS gambling town he'd be lynched by week's end or vanished by the Mafia on account of him robbing the casinos." Dahl said, scanning around for Jerithian stragglers or reinforcements. An explosion rocked in the distance, reminding the chatterboxes of Squad Nine (Sans Hayes who had slipped back to his silent self) that they were in a warzone.

"Well everyone? We've got an enemy to annihilate. Let's show these slit-eyed chink Imperial puppets who here really runs Avietan!" Conte yelled as they closed in on the Technical. The men, including Karlsson cheered at Conte's racist and ironically imperialist remark as Karlsson hotwired the truck that the Jerithians had left by the wayside. The truck sluggishly coughed back to life as Karlsson violated the ignition with his toolkit. With one last kick the Ragnite engine began to emit its trademark icy glow as Karlsson wiped dirt off of the dashboard and windshield with the Darcsen-patterned cloth he had wrapped under his sleeves. "Alright everyone, get in back, stay off the gun unless you want to get sniped." Conte barked, getting into the shotgun-seat.

"Hold on tight jackasses, here we go!" Karlsson stuffed the cloth into one of his disused ammo pouches on his khaki uniform and stomped on the gas pedal. Conte loosened up his Yggdist pendant, letting it swing in the breeze going through the truck's cabin into Karlsson's view like a spider rappelling down as he tried to stay focused.

"Get us around to their camp, Karlsson. We'll capture their command-post first and cut off any direction they're getting." Conte shouted, sliding his pistol into the inside pocket of his uniform.

"Got it! Now, would you kindly get that symbol of oppression and genocide out of my face?!" Karlsson said as he weaved the truck around the streets, trying to avoid the attention of enemy patrols and tanks, to no avail as they were quickly spotted out travelling opposite the frontlines. A junk-shell recycled from EWII hit the side of the truck, dislodging Karlsson's door, detonating behind the truck into a pursuing AT-squad. Dahl leaned out over the side, spraying a few rounds at anyone foolish enough to be exposed while Conte tried to figure out what directions to give to Karlsson.

"There! Jump that ramp before a shell blows the engine! Straight into their camp!" Conte yelled, nearly grabbing the wheel from Karlsson.

"Hold on! This is going to hurt like hell!" Karlsson did a sudden sharp right-turn into the ramp, throwing off the aim of the AT squad in front of them. In the confusion a stray round hit Hayes, slipping him into misfiring his AT Lance as the Jeep flew through the open air.

"Holy hell! Bail!" One of them yelled in panic. Without question, all four barreled out midair into the enemy camp milliseconds before the rocket's fuse went off, forcing them to cower from the truck's shrapnel. As Conte looked up he recited one of his many Yggdist prayers, realizing Hayes' mistake managed to kill every Jerithian defending the base-camp, fully prepared for them thrice over. A childlike expression gripped his face as he walked his way towards the radio tent.

"Praise the Valkyrur! Praise the- Hey!" Conte said, stopped by Karlsson shoving him aside to point out the command tent. A single dark figure stood visible inside. The two walked up with as much silence as they could, hand-signaling Dahl to stay back and help Hayes.

"We've got… Her?" Karlsson said as Conte slid into the command tent. The enemy commander sat by her radio, silent and idle. Something about this didn't seem right whatsoever to Conte, to which Karlsson's expression concurred. She got up from her chair slowly as the two aimed their pistols at her as she smiled, now visibly a Darcsen.

"Another dark-hair working with the Jerithians. Did I miss some memo or something?" Conte asked, looking at her. Conte stared at her uniform, noting the various patches and links on it. On her collar resided a steel rectangular insignia bearing the traditional Darcsen pattern, held in by the cloth's seams. On her right shoulder there was a patch with another insignia, this time of with something of a raven or a crow. At the v-point of her collar was a brooch with the Imperial Eagle, as all officers of the Imperial army had. Conte hesitated for a moment, realizing that one of them might end up starting EWIII inadvertently. He'd heard the stories about a unit of Darcsens fighting for the Empire in EWII, but…

"Hands up, you've lost this one!" Conte yelled, placing his finger firm of his pistol's trigger. The Calamity Raven commander laughed and put her hands up in the air as she was told. As she slowly walked towards the two Gallians she said something in an old traditional Darcsen language that sounded inane to Conte, staring at the Yggdist symbol on Conte's neck in contempt. At not a moment's notice she reached down to her grenades and ripped out all the pins, dropping them below her as she lunged past Conte.

"Oh shit, Karlsson! Move!" Conte yelled, pushing the both of them out of the tent. A second later the grenades fired off, revealing themselves to be none more than smoke markers. "Where the hell did she go? Dahl, report!" Conte yelled out, sprinting around in panic.

"Whoever she was she disappeared like a ghost! Just slipped around the corner and then nothing! All I saw where she went were a few cardboard boxes, an oil drum, and a bucket. And yes sir, I checked them all!" Dahl reported, scanning around for any movements.

"Damnit! Damnit all to hell! Who the hell was she?!" Conte raged, nearly headbutting a wall. "Karlsson, take the radio and report in that enemy base camp is occupied. We're done here!"

"Affirmative, sir." Karlsson responded, shaking his head about the officer they had just encountered. "Just remember. At the end of the day, the battle was ours." He finished as he turned his back to commandeer the radio.

Yet alas, like every "victory" of the war so far, Squad Nine's maneuver at Newell in the end would amount to none more than a delaying action as an unstoppable Jerithian blitz pushed them back more and more to the capital, humiliating the might of the Federation and Gallia with every fallen soldier. The Second Jerithian War was only beginning, and the long road of suffering, betrayal, and loss had yet to be in sight for them…

* * *

Might be a bit of a wait on Chapter 8 by the way, got some overarching revisions coming for it, and in its present state it disappoints me. Needless to say, I don't push out something I don't like. It'l come when it looks decent enough in my eyes. AKA: WHEN IT'S DONE.

Codex will likely come out first though since I'm really only going to have to make sure it's simply grammatically correct. I just need someone who can remind me to get back to writing instead of playing Counter-Strike and Bioshock (Actually, revising/editing, not writing. I have a whole other 8 chapters written already after this that I have yet to edit and publish, a few of them (As well as this one), dating back to late 2012 before the infamous Call of Halo 4 released.).

Until then, enjoy. And if you haven't yet, go give the Gallian Liberation Front a like on Facebook. We need everyone we can get if we ever want to see VC3 in the west.


	9. Chapter 8 - Effort All for Nothing

_Hey guys, sorry for the delay. Oh and by the way, I take it back on doing a lemon involving a future pairing. Sorry, no fap-material for you guys. Anyway, this time can someone hit me up on Steam (Steam name is TG Valkyrur) and remind me to stop procrastinating? Thanks. So, without further delay, here is Chapter 8 of Act I._

* * *

Chapter 8 – Effort All for Nothing

Following Operation Calamity's End, every officer credited for the operation's success had been invited for a banquet in Randgriz along with various politicians who more than likely wanted none more than to hoard glory for the fact that they held office when Haas was eliminated. Notable among some of the guests were _absolute gentlemen_like Sergeant Aaron W. Gunther, Colonel Theodore Ustinov, General Adrian S. Calhoun of the UCIS, and Dr. Welkin Gunther as one of the representatives of the Gallian Objectivist Party. Other than that there were various forgettable diplomats from the Federation and the Empire, there to negotiate over the Jerithia situation. Captain Conte, however, had not been invited despite his key role in the operation, by all means discriminated for his Yggdist faith which was considered even more of a disgrace with the residue of the Gallian Civil War still staining the nation.

Aaron stood in his uniform, looking across the hall at his father chatting up the colonel about Randy Aian's latest book like they were old friends, or something of the sort. A shame his mother was not there, obviously she was so dedicated to her work to the utmost extremes that even her own son was going to be among all the big-shots and politicians over his accomplishments, if not only for a day, was something that would take a back seat. Not that she was willing to support anything of the war in any way, that much was known by Aaron seeing as she was exceptionally vocal in discouraging Aaron from enlisting back when he did during the previous Jerithian war back in 1958. Welkin of course had his concerns, albeit they had been placed more on the fact that Gallia was letting itself get involved in foreign wars instead of Aaron enlisting after being laid-off from his previous job.

"Oi mate I think you dropped this" Someone said, handing Aaron a piece of paper. Aaron immediately snapped out of the trance he had fallen into, grabbing the note from the man wearing a Gallian militia uniform.

"Think you might have gotten the wrong person there, pal. I haven't touched a slip of paper in a few days." Aaron replied, thumbing it.

"It plainly says, 'To Sergeant First Class Gunther, Aaron', sir." The man insisted, backing off.

"Eh, whatever. Girard." Aaron replied. The militiaman saluted and walked off, somewhat shaken for no apparent reason from their encounter. Aaron walked around down into one of the less inhabited hallways to read the note and unfolded it. His start to reading was interrupted by a familiar voice next to him.

"Aaron."

Aaron turned around at the sound of his name, looking to see Isara pass by him with a blonde-haired fellow by her side.

"Isara?" He replied, putting his hand on her to get her to stop. She sighed, turning around to Aaron. "What are you doing here?"

"Passing through. I'm on my way for business unrelated to the political circlejerk you stirred up. I must say I'm not impressed. At least my business is doing an actual service for the nation" Isara plugged, trying to end the conversation quickly

"Like what? I've not kept up on what you do, Sis." Aaron asked, yawning.

"Don't call me 'Sis', Aaron. I'm above simply that!" She snapped, nearly slapping her brother. "For the record, I'm on my way to question a dangerous criminal who was hauled in for unlicensed distribution of Silvre to people above their monthly limit. Don't you know how dangerously addictive that is?"

"Hey, with the prices it has now, what's not to like about silver? I myself have a few shares of silver laying around, just waiting for the price to go up a bit and-" Aaron replied.

"No, not silver! Silvre, the drug! Does 'monthly limit' go deaf by your ears?!" Isara replied. "Increased reaction speed, mental focusing, faster clotting of wounds, you can name it. Unfortunately the side-effects of 'insanity, discoloration of irises, seizures, ect' didn't seem to discourage regulators from approving it. And to think fifty years ago it was considered acceptable!"

"Oh… That… Never tried it…" Aaron replied, disappointed. "Hey wait, discoloration of irises?!" Aaron looked up at Isara's eyes which were a pale blue.

"I should go." Isara cut, listening to the blonde man whispering to her. Without hesitation she kept moving, looking away from Aaron. Aaron shook his head and sighed, unfolding the paper he had been given.

"FORTY-NINE:

FORTY-NINE, PROCEED TO THE PHONE-BOOTH OUTSIDE AT THE NORTH ENTRANCE STOP.

REQUEST THE LINE OF MR ANISES IN FOUZEN STOP.

GALLIAN CURRENCY HAS BEEN PROVIDED IN THIS NOTE STOP.

-OBSERVER"

"A telegram… Classy… Don't know who the hell 'Forty-Nine' is. Whatever." Aaron folded the note back and went to do as it asked.

* * *

"I've had enough of the politics for now, Luger. Get us to Amatriain, quick! I need to get all this business sorted out sooner, not later!" Isara yelled from the back of Luger's car.

"Alright, fine. Got it. I'm going. Jeeze." Luger retorted, trying to enjoy the air. The air with the smell of burning fuel, to be exact. Luger hit the gas and performed an illegal U-turn on the road. Not like anyone would dare pull him over anyway. One man had already lost his job for ticketing Luger, no one would dare try him again.

"Not sure whether I should pity or envy Aaron… So oblivious…" Isara looked down on the car's floor with discontent for her life.

"Oblivious of what, Isara?"

"Oh! Just… You know, what we really do!" The lie was hasty, but it was true enough on its own. It would be equally as bad for everyone involved if Aaron knew the truth about either of what she was thinking about.

"Eh, whatever, the feeling just comes with the job. You should know that one better than me Isara, you've been here longer than I have." Luger replied, taking a swift right turn, nearly crashing on the curb like a jackass.

"Yeah, I know. It's just…"

"Well, get it off your mind before we interrogate Wollcroft, and be glad we captured her. If it was up to me I would have just slit her throat and be done with it." Luger said, honking his horn on anyone in front of him who wasn't speeding.

"We need her information on Haas. It's vital, you know that Luger. By the way, I checked our intel files on her – or what was left about her that Ivanov didn't ransack - and Wollcroft isn't even her name. She throws aliases around like they're the Mawbebizean Dollar."

"Care to enlighten me on what her real name is then? I want to shock her when I say it with no mistakes." Luger asked, swerving around someone's brand-new black '65 Fjord Stallion imported from the UCIS.

"Sylvia Girvin. That's all you need to know for now."

* * *

Back at Randgriz castle, Aaron waited on the phone – five minutes as of yet – For the other end of the phone to pick up. He looked over at his father and Ustinov, who had moved on to talking with eachother about KFM's stock price going up because of the war. It was embarrassing to think that a small 1936 upstart had managed to outdo state-owned factories, thanks in part to trade with the Federation and Empire. Kozlov-Förster Multinational, if Aaron recalled correctly, with wares ranging from drugs to high-end explosive ordnance to household appliances. At this point, the only thing the Gallian National Arsenal had that KFM didn't were bullpup-model weaponry like the GNA-AR/B, or commonly known to most soldiers as the GNAAR, sometimes with bullpup added on the end. Aaron would have questioned himself on why he didn't buy some stocks in KFM earlier with some of his money gained from gambling, but the other side finally picked up.

"Hello, is this Mister Forty-Nine on the other end?" The mystery-man asked.

"Uh, sir, my name is Aar-"

"Good good. I'm going to have to ask that you're referred to as Forty Nine for now on in all our future communications. You can call me… Thane Anises. Yes, that will be adequate."

"Why Forty Nine? What is this, some sort of prank? What's this about?" Aaron asked, befuddled.

"Trust me it'll be fitting for you soon enough, that much I know. But like I said, my name's Anises, and presently, it's my goal to keep you alive. You know you stirred up a lot of enemies when you raided Haas' base."

"And killed him, too. Wasn't my choice."

"There's the thing though, you've got the wrong guy. Your boy Haas was kilos away back in Avietanese territory enjoying his own company at a little Federation archaeological dig when you offed his double. He's taken notice of you boyo. Watch yourself, Forty Nine, because he knows you're his enemy." Anises revealed on the phone.

"Avietanese territory? How? He's an enemy of the state!" Aaron replied, looking to see if anyone was watching.

"Enemy of the state doesn't matter when you have the money. Do you think people care about loyalty to their nation when the only true thing that matters is money? I know plenty of men who would have betrayed their posts back in EWII if it meant having access to all the Ragnite they could make a profit off of. You think the civil-war was about Darcsens? Think again boyo, Darcsens were just an excuse for rich to get even richer off of Gallian Ragnite. Do you know how great the civil-war of 1937 was for shareholders? That bloody war put KFM where it is now. What with their little clandestine 'Project Valhalla' and all."

"That's just capitalism." Aaron replied with offense.

"No, that's not capitalism, that's treason for one's own personal gain. I don't know if you objectivist types understand, but Gallia isn't the nation it was thirty years ago. Gallia has become a capitalist heaven, where the rich to poor gap grows higher every day. It won't be long before the national-arsenal is dissolved and its assets are sold to KFM. This isn't the Gallia your father saved, boyo, even he's starting to realize that. Of course, he just sees 'dog eat dog; man eat dog' society as nature. You'd think his love of nature would lead to less despicable outcomes."

"There's nothing despicable about the free-market!" Aaron repeated

"Says the man whose money is all from gambling and shorting stocks. Your father's an arrogant war-hero who uses naturalism to justify all of Gallia's bullshit these past thirty years." Anises replied from his end of the line

"Just who do you think you are, Mr. Anises?"

"A true patriot of Gallia who's disappointed to see what's happened to her. This used to be a beautiful land, still can be if we turn it around. Anyway, back to business boyo. One. Don't trust any bloke with a black coat with a number stitched on his shoulder, that, and he'll have an insignia with a muzzled dog and '421' on it. You see him, don't let him go behind your back, kill him if you have to."

"Got it, he one of Haas' men?" Aaron replied, nervous. He'd seen plenty of black-uniformed men of the same description lurking around the dark ends of the bases he'd been posted at in his time.

"You bet boyo. He'd more than likely be paid off to kill you, chances likely he was put where he was for accepting bribes in the first place. Noone'll bat an eye if you take his head off, no one cares about his type living or dying. Now, two. You see that Darcsen behind you?" Aaron turned around, sure enough, and saw a Darcsen man impatiently waiting behind him.

"Hey, soldier, I need to call my girl about tonight, can you give me the phone a second?" He asked, twitching nervously. Aaron gritted his teeth at hearing 'soldier'.

"Anyway, that Darcsen there, undeniably one of Haas' men. Zamanov, if I'm thinking correctly. He's a fresh recruit to a little Darcsen terrorist bloc called 'Calamity Raven' originating in the Empire. He's here to kill you to prove his worth to Haas. You don't want that to happen, trust me boyo. This'll be simple, he'll be scared off easily enough for now. Tell him, and I quote, 'Mister Zamanov, I don't recall you being invited to the banquet.' tell him that, and he'll likely find a reason to leave before the cops deal with him. Now, if you don't mind me Forty Nine, I've got some other business to take care of. Auf wiedersehen."

"Got it." Aaron replied. Anises' end quickly hung up on him, as did Aaron when he heard the noise. Aaron turned around, seeing the Darcsen who was still impatient for the phone. "Mister Zamanov, I don't recall you being invited to the banquet tonight, were you?" Aaron said, immediately scaring the Darcsen off.

"Oh, of course, I forgot this phone was for invited guests only, sorry." He turned around and started walking back down the street briskly, only to turn around for a second to say "My vas pokhoronim…", which Aaron immediately took as "We will bury you". Aaron kept his cool, albeit somewhat on edge, as he went back inside of Castle Randgriz.

* * *

Isara walked down the StateInt wing's basement of Fort Amatriain with Luger by her side, heading towards the interrogation room. She flashed her ID card by one of the guards, who immediately went to grab Sylvia Girvin from her cell as he had been scheduled.

"So, why is it you want to kill Wollcroft- I'm sorry- Girvin so badly? She could easily be an asset." Isara asked with concern.

"Why _not_ kill her? She's a Valkyria, bringer of destruction upon _my _people. Never mind the fact that we've had to quarantine her away from any Ragnite so there's no possibility of her absorbing energy from it." Luger said, offering a cigarette to Isara. She rejected it immediately.

"Pathetic. It took you seeing a Valkyria to finally start acting like a Darcsen and not some nervous dimwit. Being a Darcsen isn't something you should be afraid of, but it shouldn't cloud your decision making because of this." Isara said, shaking her head in disappointment at Luger.

"You don't understand the culture we've lived in these many years. Now, forgive me for sounding sympathetic with terrorists, but Calamity Raven knew what was what. They knew the Valkyrur needed to go extinct for real if the Darcsens wanted justice." Luger said, smiling.

"That's bollocks and you know it, Luger. I've read what wasn't purged and black-inked yet. If they 'knew what was what' they wouldn't be working with Yggdists."

"That's beside the point, Isara. Calamity Raven simply takes whatever steps is necessary for the future of the Darcsen race. A home, equality, everything we've wanted. If the Yggdists were willing to offer a reprieve to the Darcsens, then so be it. If that meant purging what real Valkyrur there were so there could be none that could possibly pose a threat to the Yggdist delusion by speaking against their lies, then that was a necessary end for Calamity Raven to be involved in."

"I see where this is going Luger. You condone genocide and retribution because of a myth. Face it, the whole 'Darcsen calamity' was none more than an old rumor stirred up because Darcsens are minorities. You don't need to become all homicidal because of it." Isara lied, again. If anything, the whole idea of the Darcsen calamity was almost a point of pride for her, not that she hated Darcsens, but the whole idea of conquering Europa swiftly was something of amazement to her. If Luger had known what was going through Isara's head – Or even what she was – There'd have been no one to stop him from unloading the entire magazine of his pistol into her chest.

"Don't interrupt me, and don't generalize my people into a bunch of passive and complacent cowards!" Luger nearly slapped Isara as his face grew red with rage from Isara's interruption.

"Luger, do you think Sylvia chose what she was?" Isara said, trying to use the naturalistic ideology her father had practically indoctrinated her in to spin Luger's viewpoint.

"Did I choose to be a Darcsen, Isara? No, but I will fight for my kind as I was dumped in! As I was saying, Calamity Raven's true goal would be to none other than eliminate the Valkyrur once and for all so that one day we may all say they were truly none more than a myth. Do you know why Europa is not covered in Valkyrur? Because even they, yes even the Valkyrur, saw what threat their existence posed! There is no place for them in this world! Such power can't be allowed to exist, even they knew that! They practically let themselves disappear from existence from seeing what they had accomplished! And if they didn't, you'd better believe Calamity Raven is there to mop up what's left, and with extreme prejudice!" Luger continued raving on.

"That's horrible, Luger, all of it! Do their descendants deserve death for what their ancestors did? Did they commit such atrocity?" Isara looked around, almost scared by Luger's fanaticism for Calamity Raven. She itched herself not to report him in for his sympathies, convinced she could sway him back.

"Frankly my dear, if it means justice for the Darcsens, then yes. Yes they do deserve to be eliminated. It's better for everyone in the end! The Yggdist church doesn't have anyone lying around who could out Yggdism's lies, us Darcsens have our justice, and we don't have to worry about their power being abused against anyone. That and the Valkyrur are monsters at the core. Pure malevolence is what makes up their blood. No room for them on my planet!" Luger said, even madder with each word he bellowed out.

"If anyone's being malevolent right now, it's you Luger! You fear what you do not understand, is that it, Luger? Please, you need to keep check of yourself. Your talk isn't going to do you any favors here. Not when Calamity Raven is officially labeled as a terrorist organization. You could easily get court martialed if someone else hears you saying all this!" Isara replied, trying to calm down Luger before anyone else came by.

* * *

Aaron cleaned his uniform for whatever dust had rubbed onto it in the air, pressing on his forehead from all the stress worked up from the formalities that day. And hell, they still hadn't gotten to the speeches yet. As if it wasn't bad enough for Aaron's psyche. Aaron gritted his teeth under his closed mouth and followed behind a few other NCOs from his battalion along with Colonel Ustinov. Aaron hadn't been nearly this anxious before, not since the First Jerithian War started.

"Alright, simple. Just go into the positions you'd normally go to during inspection, just indoors this time." One of the officers said, equally nervous about the whole ordeal as everyone else was. For most of the people here, this was their first time in the city, as well as in the castle. First off, all the ranking officers entered the audience hall, taking the left side sorted by rank and surname. The NCOs from the units receiving honors came in next, taking up the two inner rows of the right side, also sorted to the same patter as their commanding officers on the opposite side. Any civilian guests quietly took up the outer portion behind the NCOs. Welkin, surprisingly not drunk yet from what alcohol he had gratuitously consumed, realized in an uncanny similarity that he had been standing on the exact same spot Ellet had been last time he was here. General Johansen walked over to the front of the room, alongside Prime Minister Schwartz, readying himself for his speech.

"Greetings and salutations sirs and madams assembled here today, including our guests from the Atlantic Federation, the Union of Columbian Independent Sovereignties, and the East Europan Imperial Alliance. It is my duty to inform everyone here tonight, as well as the media, that the international reign of terror committed by the disgraced Major Gustav Úlfur Haas, regretfully of the Gallian Army, has come to an end after five years. Mister Haas was neutralized in a firefight with Gallian and Federation marines in Jerithia, which claimed the life of Sergeant First Class Jan Martin Stahl of Squad Nine, Second Battalion, Fifth Expeditionary Brigade of the Gallian Marine Corps." General Johansen said, loud and proud. "I hereby award the Splintered Horn to all servicemen of Squad Nine of the Second Battalion of the Fifth Expeditionary Brigade of the Gallian Marine Corps, including Captain Alan Conte, Private Jan Dahl, Sergeant First Class Aaron W. Gunther, and Corporal Carl Hayes." He continued. "Regretfully, his associates who had defected with him remain at large, including but not limited to Doctor Viktor Ivanov of State Intelligence, Edgar Cooper, and Captain Leah Aela Haas of the Gallian Army, however it is my duty to assure you that the situation is under control and these criminals shall be brought to justice in due time. With that, I hand these formalities over to Prime Minister Schwartz. Sir."

* * *

"This isn't a matter of trivial fear and hate, Isara. Don't be so naïve about this. This, Isara, is two thousand years of war. I am a Darcsen, Girvin is a Valkyria, and thus is an enemy by matter of blood. Is that not simple enough for you to digest?" Luger said as he began looking for the security-key to the interrogation room he did not have. Isara remained silent, unable to express offense from Luger's past five minutes of anti-Valkyrur comments, lest he would know. Yet, as long as he didn't act on anything he said, everything would be fine. That conjecture, however, did not sooth the lingering fear Isara had against Luger finding out what she was and doing something crazy in reaction. If anything, that was her truest motivation to keep her secret a secret. Isara stared at Luger for a few seconds of his fumbling, and pulled out the magnetic-card that she had been given to unlock the door, which she did to Luger's amazement.

"This will be simple. Answer our questions; you might get to see Fhirald again before the Imperials crush it under their heels in response to the little revolution you're planning. Don't answer them, and then I'm afraid to say we cannot guarantee your safety in Gallia." Isara said as she stepped in, sitting down on the chair opposite Girvin's side of the table that Girvin was handcuffed to.

"You'll answer our questions, Sylvia Girvin. They always do." Luger said, lighting himself a cigarette.

"Nice words there Gallians, you get them out of some action movie? And care to tell me who Girvin is?" Girvin snidely replied. She tried in futility to break her cuffs, incapable of summoning the power of the Valkyrur. Aside from having no Ragnite exposure in the past day, the Ragna-suppressor in the corner made her feel drained of energy and nauseated. For being a trapped bird in a cage, she had at least managed to not let on that the suppressor in the corner would be the ultimate physical torture device if turned up a few notches. Maybe it could even kill her if set high enough.

"It's been our understanding that the Fhiraldian Independence League has been buying stolen Gallian munitions with drug-money from dealing Silvre. Who's the seller?" Isara asked, tapping on the table.

"I'm not at liberty to say." Girvin answered.

"Is your end-goal to start the Third Europan War if Gallia is implicated in supplying Communist rebels in Fhirald? If so, I can assure you Fhirald will be one of the first places we flatten when we go to, ahem, assrape the Empire. Again." Isara pressed.

"If you wanted to know the answer to your question, you'd be better off asking The General or Nikolai Kirov."

"You know, you make a horrible liar, Girvin. In case you didn't notice, we haven't fallen for your little alias of 'Wollcroft'. It wasn't even remotely Fhiraldian!"

* * *

"…Glad that's over…" Aaron sighed, sliding a cigarette out from the pack he had hidden in his uniform pocket.

"Was never one for formalities myself. Eh, whatever." Colonel Ustinov said, yanking a shot of whiskey from one of the castle butlers. "Get yourself back to base with all the others. You're getting transferred back to Avietan tomorrow. Me? Turns out Haas' death has made me obsolete out there. I don't care anymore anyway." Ustinov gulped down the shot and put the backwashed glass back on the plate.

"Yes sir. Sergeant Gunther checking out R T B."

"Damned shame. Few people I could truly call a hero and Úlfur was one of those men. It's always the best who go off the deep end. Too many psych casualties after the razing of Tốitim." Ustinov muttered.

* * *

Girvin screamed as the combat-knife stabbed through the back of her hand onto the table. Even though it would fully heal over within the week, maybe even the day, no powers of the Valkyrur would silence the pain of a serrated blade through flesh and blood. The blade pulled out, slicing her even more on its return trip to its owner. Her albino skin paled even more in a feat the average man would consider impossible, her blood with what little color it gave pooling out below her hand. Luger smirked and put his knife back in its sheath.

"Ready to talk yet?" Luger asked. Girvin responded only with whimpering and tears. Perhaps, she supposed, it was none more than what she deserved for the karma she had inherited. The few Darcsen doctors at the KFM facility did well to remind her that the only good thing about her existence was the kind of data on Ragnite reactions in Humans they could find from her body. "I can go all day at this."

"Uh…" Girvin responded, looking down at the table she was handcuffed to.

"Did I tell you that your eyes remind me of puppy eyes, Valkyria?" Luger giggled. "Reminds me of the time some GRA holdout and his boyfriend had a guard-dog outside their hole. Two bastards barricaded themselves in a closet and left their pissed off little Sheepdog outside to ward us off. I grabbed that dog by the neck and strangled it until they gave up – Damn near broke its neck if they didn't. Only when I threatened that innocent little puppy did they finally come out of the closet and surrender. Those two fags are presently on death-row for sodomy and treason, surprised the genocide charge was only for Life though." Luger banged his fist on the table "HUH!? Do you want to be like those two?! Fucking talk!"

"Luger. That's enough." Isara entered though the steel door of the interrogation room. "One of those two 'Fags' was just busted out of prison thirty minutes ago. Get on the horn with the Royal Guard, I'm sending you after him. Dismissed! I'll take it from here."

"Damnit, O'Connor's been jailbroke?! Right away, Captain!" Luger sprung to action, lunging for the door. "This isn't over." He snarled, doing an "Eye on you" gesture at Girvin. The door slammed behind him as he ripped a Gallian-D-F off its weapons-rack.

"Now. I'll ask again. Who's selling the weapons to the Fhiraldian Independence League?" Isara inquisited. Girvin whimpered some more. "Who's the seller?" Isara motioned her hand for the Ragna-suppressor.

"Durrell! Gloria Durrell! Fine! There! She's the seller! From Fouzen!" Girvin cried out. Her hand bled some more onto the table, leaving another layer with the other layers of dried blood from previous guests to this room. Albeit however the others' blood were mostly from nosebleeds, not psychopathic stabbings. Isara wrote down the name on her notepad.

"Good. Good." Isara nudged a rag towards Girvin for her to wrap on her hand. "I shall be back within the hour. I expect you to answer more of our questions then. Or more importantly, MY questions." Isara went to the door to unlock it for herself. "Namely… Awakening the Valkyrian power…"

"It'll come to you… When you truly need it."

"Pfft. Cryptic little bitch." Isara sneered. She slammed the door behind her and headed up to the office of General Zeri.

* * *

"Any idea what the hell happened at the 'Razing of Tốitim'?" Aaron asked, lighting a cigarette in the Fort Amatriain mess-hall. The other three at the table shrugged.

"Nyeh…" One in a black uniform bearing the marking '21' said. He got up and walked away without so much as a salutation "Screw this. Officers'll get pissed if they see me here. I'm out." He stole another NCO's rations to everyone's dismay and dashed for the exit. "You're all a bunch a fahkin' morons!"

"What's his problem?! But no, seriously, what happened-", Aaron tried to ask.

"Oh that? We won. That's what happened. Bagged me a few of those Jerithian savages there. _Civilized_ a few new mistresses while I was at it." The soldier laughed. "I get hard just thinking about it all."

"Shit man." The third soldier said. "I'm lucky I didn't wash out on my psych exam after that like the Major did." He laid his head down on the wood. "Too many dead civilians caught in the crossfire between us and the Jerithian People's Army" He looked back up again, glaring at the soldier who had spoken before him. "That – And that a few assholes weren't charged for rape because they had clean service-records."

"Screw you Johnson!"

Aaron got up from the table with an emotionless face and proceeded to find another table to consume his tasteless meal at. Too much information for his simple question. He'd already lost it at "Dead civilians". Best not to think about the "mistresses" and their "civilizing". As if what he'd actually experienced in the last war and the present one wasn't enough, thinking about war-crimes like that was just going to make it all worse. More than anything he wanted to know more about Haas – Not his dishonorable former-subordinates.

* * *

Isara left her office in the StateInt wing, tapping out a cigarette on one of the ashtrays built into the wall. The doors at the end of the hall were opened in front of her immediately and closed even faster, almost advertising the great paranoia held by StateInt on keeping its doing secret. Up ahead of her, on the west side of the Fort Amatriain facility was the wing containing the offices of the top officers in the Army as well as the militia organizers who had spent the past thirty years being completely redundant. After about half a minute of walking she found herself at General Zeri's office, with Colonel Walther by his side. Two soldiers in combat gear, likely coming back from drills to put away their equipment and clean off some of the blood dried on their collar from practice rounds hitting them, shoved past Isara leaving only a rude greeting of "Dasvidaniya" heading towards the back of the building. She knocked on the door, to which Zeri promptly hand-signaled her to come in.

"Sir, I believe we have a lead on the weapons piracy to Fhirald."

"What is it? Every second we sit on our asses we inch closer to a political shitstorm." Zeri demanded.

"The one shipping the weapons is believed the be a 'Gloria Durrell', sir. Located presently in Fouzen."

"…Age doesn't slow her down one bit…" Zeri groaned. "Good job. That's all we'll be needing from Girvin. Shame though by now Durrell has likely gone to ground – But at least that shuts down the smuggling operation."

"Sir, what shall we-"

"Do with her? Dispose of her. She presents risk. I don't want risk." Isara looked at his numerous medals and campaign ribbons from a variety of engagements including the Gallian Civil War, EWII, the First Jerithian War, as well as mop-up operations against GRA insurgents the past 28 years. "Risk is what costs lives. Lives and money. That's one thing I've learned in my years."

"Sir, with all due respect there is still information to retrieve from her-"

"This is over, Captain Gunther." Zeri leaned back in his armchair, and looked over at Colonel Walther "Colonel Walther, hand these orders over to the militia organizers. Reports from the field say the Marines' engineering-corps is crippled, and by all means it's gotten to the point where we need to draft anyone trained in engineering." The General handed off an envelope to the other Darcsen. "Dismissed. Both of you."

Isara and Walther saluted and left the room, Isara herself in particular worry over the General's plans to handle Girvin now that he had what he wanted. For a moment she considered jail-breaking Girvin so she could try and find out how to awaken the Valkyrian power. If not for the risks involved… Or the sudden power outage.

* * *

"Alright, arseholes, stop giving me the silent treatment here. One, who the hell was that '21' asshole? And number two, who the hell is Edgar Cooper?" Aaron asked, gagging on his putrid rations.

"Since you want to be such'a fokkin' cunt 'bout it mate, I'll fokkin' tella bloody wanka. That arsehole was some fag in a penal unit no one gives half a shitdicks about. He's type don' bloody belong here you know mate?" One of the soldiers garbled at the Marine. "And I don't know on ya' mutha who ta bloddy 'ell Edward Trooper is! No'ne does!"

"Better question then: You drunk, Private?" Aaron coughed for a moment to clear his throat. "You do know what they do to soldiers drunk on du-" The power cut out, leaving them in the midnight darkness. "The hell?"

* * *

Isara rushed into the interrogation room where Girvin was supposed to be after finding her cell empty. Of course, this one was just as empty as the brig before. Her flashlight didn't show so much as a gleam of pale skin, silver hair, or those demonic red eyes in the darkness of Amatriain. Considering this distance from this room to the nearest exit as well as how long it took her to get here, it was plain that Girvin had slipped away. Luger rushed back, bearing multiple sets of bad news.

"Shit, shit, shit! Captain, that O'Connor situation wasn't no jailbreak, that was a 22-carat kidnapping. Bastards got to the airport and flew that bastard out of Gallia gagged and at gunpoint. Worse, I found two dead guys near the training-grounds with their throats slit nice and bloody. Both were stripped of their uniforms by whatever fucks did it."

"And I'd assume they cut the power on us and took Girvin?!" Isara said, noting the two soldiers who had passed earlier with bloody collars from the training grounds.

"Wait, what?! Son of a bitch!" Luger yelled, slamming his fist into the wall. "It seems the universe… Really doesn't want that bitch dead!"

"Looks like we're headed back to Fhirald, Luger. Go talk to the Director and get us clearance. We need to be there by tomorrow, else she's gone. Get a search team out and find who killed those two men. I'll get our equipment fitted, then I might bleach my hair so I can blend in well with the rest of Fhirald and not attract too much attention." She ordered. Alas though, the 'bleach hair' part was a complete and utter lie. Her futile attempts to awaken the Valkyrian power in secret had merely succeeded in causing her to develop an albino appearance akin to long-term Ragnite-poisoning.

Back in her quarters she inspected her true appearance, purified of its disguises of brown-black hairdye and blue contact-lenses, cleansed of fake tanning-gel. The woman she saw before her in that crystal mirror was one of pure Valkyrian blood, gifted by her progenitors of times past, and forged by centuries of enslaved northern tribals toils in deathly Ragnite mines under the blade of their former Darcsen masters. Hair silver like the steel of blade, eyes red as the superior blood running thick within her veins, skin pale as the death she would deliver upon her foes. The only thing lacking now was the godly azure flame emanating from her. In due time… In due time. Those before her may have considered it something to be afraid or ashamed of… But her? She let it consume her, define her, be her.

"…I swear… I shall not waste such gift on… Petty morality…" Isara echoed to herself as she stared deep into her own blood-crimson eyes in the mirror.


	10. Chapter 9 - Calamity Hawk

**Author's Note:** _Sorry for the delay guys, just had to rewrite this entire chapter. Didn't satisfy me originally. Was too short. Anyway, here it is, and I pseudo-promise that these'll come out a bit faster from now on._

* * *

Chapter 9 – Calamity Hawk

"Secure the perimeter! I want these ALF bastards purged inside the hour!" Conte ordered into his radio, directing squads Four through Nine. He himself stepped out of the Squad Nine APC, following behind the rest of his squad in ignorance of the shots fired into the overwhelmed ALF sentries posted around the area. Within the minute, the entire urban sector here was in Gallian control, surrounding the ALF infrastructure built up in this Badlands canyon. The objective was simple: Eliminate all ALF holdouts that hadn't disbanded following Haas' execution, and find any intel on their links to Jerithia or the Empire.

Aaron loaded a new magazine into his GNAAR, cocking back the receiver for yet another countless times as his training had drummed in. As much as the "active reload" concept seemed appealing, it was a reckless idea used by unprofessional brigands they were in the process of exterminating. Shortcuts were what got men killed, shortcuts like the black-uniformed man in front of him was doing.

"Hey, you trying to get your gun jammed?! Hello?" Aaron said, trying to call forth the attention of the Shocktrooper in front of him. He turned around to Aaron, shaking his head at him and smiling. "Come on, you know… Better?" Aaron looked up at his uniform, which bore the '21' that he had seen before at Amatriain on the same uniform. Someone from a penal unit, no doubt about it. Behind him were four others of their own classes, all in the same uniform design.

"Just you never mind…" Twenty-One replied, turning back to the others of his kind. "Four! Found their comms station yet?"

"Found and disabled." The scout replied in an emotionless, dead tone. She looked around between Twenty-One and Aaron with her gold-orange eyes of an oriental appearance. Her hair was black as the slicked oils often found in Ragnite refineries, with reflection of Darcsen-blue visible in the sunlight. Her skin was of a deathly pale porcelain complexion, of an unhealthy anemic nature. Aaron whistled at her, drawing the negative attention of the others around her as well as Conte.

"Enjoy it whilst you can, Sergeant. High chance she won't survive this Op." Conte said flatly. "You. Get your unit moving, you'll be entering through the garage with my squad." Conte barked at Twenty-One, pointing him towards the sunken garage door at the end of the downward ramp in front of them. "Squad Four, hold the perimeter and make sure this entire block is on lockdown, I don't want to see a single citizen of Toz making themselves potential targets. The rest of you, stack on the garage door!"

Aaron ran down to the door's keypad, checking his magazine to see if it was loaded. The others followed in suit, getting ready for the door to open up. He hesitated for a moment as he typed in the first digit of Four. Nowhere to run if the ALF had sentries trained on the door. Not when the fastest way out of the line of fire would be a four meter climb up a steel retaining wall. He typed in the last three digits slowly, bearing his rifle towards the door ready to press down the trigger firmly. To his relief as the door opened not a soul was in sight in the garage. It was nothing but inactive Federation IFVs and APCs that had been stripped of their drive systems when the Jerithian People's Army had rolled through the region at the start of the war. All the squads moved through the garage, going through its single entry door into a main foyer with two forks going to two wings

"Clear. Four-Twenty-One, take the cargo elevator down to the lowest level and clear it out, and proceed to make sure the reactor is stable. Disable it if there is any threat to it from the ALF. Five and Six, take the freight corridor and secure the ordnance there. Eight and Nine will take the armory. The last thing we need is another Ghirlandaio incident before we're even started. Knowing the ALF, it's liable they've sabotaged or booby-trapped our equipment, so stay sharp!" Conte ordered to all the squads. "Move out!"

* * *

"Awful lot of tight enclosed hallways down here. Watch for any explosives, they could easily take the ceiling down on us." Twenty One said, taking point at the front of the squad. The hall in front of him went straight to the main reactor, forking off just before the midway point into the CO's Office and fuel storage on the left and right sides respectively. "All right, no ALF hostiles sighted. Move up and secure the reactor. I'll take the CO's office, the rest of you proceed as planned. Seven, you take point."

"Got it, Fallon" Seven said, stroking his afro. "…Figures he run off and leave a poor nigga with these whitebread…" He said under his breath. "All right, move up!"

The entire squad did as Seven ordered, moving at a walking pace down the hall in anticipation of an ambush. Every few seconds more and more dust fell from the Ragnite-laced concrete ceiling, bringing a certain uneasiness among the convicts about the stability of the ceiling above their heads. Fallon was right, so much as to a grenade would bring the ceiling and any rock it supported down on them. To say the least, this place had seen better days before ALF vandals occupied it. What the ALF could do if they successfully overloaded the reactor would be impossible to know, after all, they'd likely be vaporized before anyone could figure out what was wrong. A distinct rapping noise began to sound off down the hall, it being the obvious ticking of someone clicking a lid on and off a remote detonator.

"Spread out. Forty-Nine, take point. Check for any explosives, preferably _before _we're all dismembered and crushed. Four, Fourteen, take the rear." Seven said, aiming down his sight in advance.

"Oi, Four…" Fourteen said in his high-pitched Celtican accent, slowing down to get right next to her.

"What." Four replied, staring her golden eyes straight down to the double-doors ahead of her to the reactor.

"Oi, you know that yous the only person here who not a single soul knows your actual name. Well, a'least not the ones here who are still among the living…" Fourteen stated. "So, yous know I can't help but ask a lass what her name be."

"It's not important." Four said in a blank monotone

"I mean… Last time anyone asked you what your name was, all you did was point to that… That symbol you stitched onto your jacket's shoulder.

"…You Western types… You're probably too dull and bigoted to try and figure out what that kind of 'symbol' is actually carred." Four said, turning her slanted eyes to stare menacingly at Fourteen.

"Sorry, I courdn't understand a singre thing you say. You'rr have to speak rouder!" Fourteen said, mocking the slight slip in Four's accent. "…Ok. Ok. Fine. Different topic-"

A sudden blue explosion separated Four and Fourteen, leaving Four on the opposite side of the rubble the rest of the squad was on the opposite side of. In moments, more of the ceiling came down, making it impossible for anyone to climb past. Four fell to the cold, moist floor, dampening her coat in one of the coolant puddles leaked onto the floor. Barely a meter and she would have been encased in collapsed granite.

"Four! Head through the fuel storage rooms! I'll send Forty-Nine to link up with you after we purge these ALF stains!" Seven yelled through one of the cracks.

"…Got it." Four said, shoving her half-Darcsen hair out of the way of her eyes

* * *

Fallon sorted through the library of books in the CO's office. Of course, most of these books had been what Haas, be it the late Gustav or the at-large Leah-Aela, had brought in when this was likely a base of operations for them. Most of it was uninteresting political-science that he wasn't in there for, but the other half was exactly the kind of dirt he was looking for. _Anthropology of the Valkyrur_, the notes of a late Faldio Landzaat, and an Imperial officer's recounting of the events at Naggiar in 1935, among other things related to the Valkyrur. Fallon smirked at the thought of him having similar interests with his enemy, albeit the two likely had very different reasons for their interests in the Valkyrur. A Ragnite-charge explosion sounded off in the distance which he ignored as the library of information on the Valkyrur enraptured him.

"Hmm… I'll have to get around to figuring out who this 'Alicia Melchiott' is…" Fallon said, writing down the new information in his notebook. "Hopefully I'll have better luck than I had trying to track down that Marcellis woman… Bitch completely disappeared from existence after the Empire's withdrawal… Weren't enough records to find Aliasse, at least not outside of some heavily guarded Imperial info-vault." Fallon pondered over trying to find a live Valkyria or any descendants. "Hmm… What about Selvaria Bles? No, wait, she's dead… Damnit I don't have much to work with here…"

Fallon scoured the office, tearing apart the walls trying to find more information on the Valkyrur from Haas' stash. As much as the next other man would certainly be interested in documents about a Valkyria's physical appearance, that was something he had established well in his mind years ago. All he needed was names and family trees, and those were the few things that had alluded him.

"Hmm… What's this?" Fallon said, grappling a notebook left around on the floor. "…'Enclave of relatively pure Valkyrur descendants in northern Empire and Fhirald. Will make excellent subjects if permission can be received from Imperial army occupying Fhirald.'… Good luck with that, Pal. Last I heard they hung Darcsens for so much as to looking an Imperial officer in the eye." Fallon jested, continuing his search. "What the hell?" he began choking up as he came across a series of folders labeled "Seventh Directive – StateInt Clearance Dark". In seconds Fallon's glee turned to horror at the information before him. "You crazy bas- Who's there?!"

* * *

Number Four snuck through the storage room, looking for any ALF troopers hanging around. So far, nothing to be seen. Just dust and faint echoes in the distance. The grate-floor below her began to rattle, forcing her to look down at the coolant pool it held her above. From the chill she felt through her boots, it had to be liquid nitrogen sitting below her. She peeked around the edge of a fuel tank in front of her and looked out at the rest of the section. All clear in here, just empty space, some catwalks, and a ramp back down to the reactor level. She sighed and walked out into the open, and was immediately greeted by Forty-Nine on the lower end of the ramp.

"Four. Come on, let's go!" He yelled through his gas mask.

"Coming." Four said, running down to Forty-Nine.

"Looks like our job here is done. Was just a few of those ALF punks. Nothing major. Surprised we all came through in one-" He stopped, collapsing to the ground and screaming as a round from a MAGS ripped through his shoulder. Four turned around swiftly, snapping her aim on the head of her enemy.

* * *

Fallon pulled his head off the desk it had been slammed into and strafed to the right before another blow could come. He swung back, ripping a broken chair leg off the ground to fight back with. His attacker merely shrugged off the Lignum wood slammed across his head. Fallon ducked away from the man's hook and pulled out his Viper.

"Screw off!" Fallon yelled pulsing the trigger. The assailant pushed his arm to the side and threw him through the glass wall of the office. "Just don't know when to go down?!" Fallon grunted, jumping back up to finally get a good look at the attacker. Typical business suit, aviator sunglasses, Darcsen hair, and the muscles of a body-builder. '_Terrific' _Fallon thought. "Listen, Dark-Hair, I don't know what your problem is, but let's resolve this peace-" he said, rolling to the side as the Darcsen began to charge him. "You know, I'm surprised, all I saw so far was a bunch of Avietanese ruffians, but you-" He tried taunting until a swift uppercut hit him. "Ok, smooth, you got a hell of a punch." He kept going, wiping the blood off his nose.

"Will you shut up!" He said, shoving Fallon to the ground. He delivered yet another punch into Fallon as he barely got up.

"You're one dangerous son of a bitch!" Fallon replied. "Add to that those 'Enhancements' added on which are banned by the World Council…" Fallon said, headbutting the Darcsen to the ground. "Gotta say, I really must thank Haas for leaving those files on his men around, especially those specifications on those 'enhancements'. Correct?" Fallon taunted, picking up his Viper off the ground. "I mean, I knew that one girl was… Odd. But I wasn't expecting an enemy spy. Still-" Fallon was immediately rammed from behind by the Calamity Hawk agent.

* * *

"Forty-Nine!" Four yelled, aiming her rifle on her sole enemy. Just at top of the ramp stood Leah Haas, holding a smoking MAGS in one hand. Four's gold-orange eyes stared down into Leah's crystal-pale blue eyes. "What is this."

"An obvious trap. An obvious trap that the Gallians fell for. Makes me kind of sad when it takes a single squad to wipe out six of yours." Leah replied, finishing off Forty-Nine as he tried to fire back. Four rolled to cover at the side of the ramp and began to think. "You weren't honestly expecting that we'd just hand this powerhouse to those Avietanese cannon fodder? Those rats?! No, dear traitor, this place is only worthy of the elite like us!" Leah continued.

"Me? Traitor? You're the ones who took it this far." Four said, firing off a round into one of the fuel tanks to no avail.

"Yet Gallia still treats you like a traitor. I would have said you'd have been better off staying with us, but that'd be a lie. No room for the impure in Calamity Hawk. You never belonged by our side! Only true Darcsens!" Leah yelled, firing off her extended magazine MAGS in Four's direction.

"For bitching about purity, you idiots sure were into tampering with-!" Four tried yelled back, moving away from the bullets penetrating her cover.

"Don't try to say that about someone who was already perfect. You, on the other hand? You were quite the anxious volunteer for those treatments."

"Along with everyone else who was convinced they were bringing justice for the Darcsen people! I didn't know yet that you planned on resorting to this insanity! You're a stain on Darcsen pride, Haas!"

"That's big words coming from someone who's only half a Darcsen! 'Darcsen pride' is for cowards who sit back and die under the hands of the true criminals! The Empire! The GRA! Even the Federation snakes! And worst of all, the traitors we know as House Randgriz!" Leah Haas yelled, sprinting to Four's position. Four rolled out of her cover, bringing her rifle to point blank range with Leah's face. Leah's MAGS stood just below, poking at Four's chest right by her heart.

"I was hoping this wouldn't-"

"-End in a stalemate." Leah finished for Four. They both laughed at eachother.

"We really did give Gallia's enemies a run for their money back in the day, eh?" Four said.

"Indeed we did. Sabotage, assassination, extortion." Leah reminisced.

* * *

Fallon started whistling a tune to himself as him and the Calamity Hawk agent exchanged blows in a looping rhythm. He took a moment to wipe the blood off his lip and resumed dodging his opponent's bone-crushing blows. Another hit from him and there was no doubt about it that he would be a smear on the concrete. Fallon rammed into the strongman, pushing him through one of the maintenance scaffolds at the side of the hall. The tools left on top rained down on them, staggering both of the fighters for a few more moments. Fallon moved to pick up the tools, running back before the other man could get back in the fight.

"Hell, you ready for more of this? Come on man, you can do this all day, I can do this all day…" Fallon said, panting for breath as he hung down and held onto his legs in exasperation. "Oh shit!"

The agent shoved Fallon into the wall and headbutted him several times. A few more punches rammed into Fallon, forcing him to cough up more of his blood. The Darcsen smiled, pinning Fallon up on the wall for one final finishing punch that was sure to turn Fallon's head into a paste of blood and bone marrow. Fallon gripped the tool he had picked up before, staring his death in the face. With an arrogant laugh, Fallon brought his hand up and forced the Circular-Saw against the Darcsen's throat. In an instant the Calamity Hawk agent's throat was torn open by the force of a 5800 RPM steel blade.

"Aww, you got blood on my jacket!" Fallon whined, spitting on the dead Darcsen. Fallon looked up at Haas' library still in the office. "Now, if you don't mind me, I've got some packing to do, rooting out a spy, and finding out who this Melchiott is…"

* * *

"You can't run from your past." Leah said to Four. "You tried, and they arrested you anyway."

"Who said I ran? No, I chose." Four said. Leah laughed and shook her head in response.

"Tehe… You know… I always laugh at myself for that 'True Darcsens' rant I always do. That's just the bollocks that my Brother always liked to spout.… Hell, got plenty of agents that aren't even Darcsens, like Cooper…"

"How so." Four replied.

"Hell, I'm only a half-Darcsen like you." Leah said, laughing to herself as Four's arm began to shake from the weight of her rifle being held so long. "Wish I could say the same for my half-brother. Maybe he'd be less of a full-on idiot. Maybe he'd realize that his 'future for the Darcsens' idea dried up decades ago. Maybe he'd realize that mainstream Darcsen hate is a dead concept."

"…If you're not for the future of the Darcsens, then what are you for?" Four asked.

"What I'd always fought for. Gallia's future. If you'd been with us at Tốitim, you'd know exactly why we've done what we have, and you'd have stayed with us. Gallia as we knew it? That's dead, replaced by corporate corruption and Federation politics. My parents always told me that the Civil War would be the catalyst of a dark era." Leah declared.

"What happened at Tốitim? I've heard about it plenty of times, but no one ever wants to give me details. No really, enlighten me." Four asked.

"…You know, Tốitim wasn't even on the frontlines. Not even close. Just a small industrial town in rural Avietan… Only thing special about the place was an arms factory owned by KFM. Deplorable working conditions, wages that could be mistaken for slave-labor. The perfect brewing pot for a socialist worker's-revolt."

"Boo hoo. Poor workers. Like that doesn't describe every third-world industrial town." Four remarked.

"Indeed. Until Jerithian agents came with an offer of salvation. You'd better believe everyone jumped on it. The military was concerned, yes, and we moved to remove any Jerithian influence in the area. KFM, however? They were unbelievably pissed that someone had moved to intervene with their exploitation. A few million Ducats misplaced into PM Johansen's bank later…. The Seventh Directive, as we called ourselves back then, was given the order. To purge Tốitim, which was supposedly under Jerithian control. We got played, hard. The order came directly from Johansen, so you'd better believe we carried it out immediately. When news came that we killed an entire town's worth of civilians and burnt down the entire town, it went public and we took the fall in place of Johansen and KFM. Do you think we had any real choice to rebel against Gallia and the Federation?"

"Do you have a single piece of evidence to back that up?" Four asked.

"More than you could ever digest. All squared nicely away in a vault in Fhirald where KFM is never going to be able to destroy it. But I don't need it. Any of it. I have more than enough old friends in the Army who know Johansen for who he is."

* * *

Seven finished applying the Ragnaid to himself, trying to keep his eye on Fourteen as he paced around the room. Five Nameless laid dead on the ground, in a pool of their own blood from the various wounds wrought on them in the past few minutes of combat with the unknown combatants. On the opposite side of the room, two dead men in business suits were crumpled on the ground, finished only by lucky headshots from Seven and Fourteen. Seven picked himself up and pulled the sunglasses off of one of the men's face. His eyes, like Four's, were a gold-orange shade, and stared back at Seven in a dull, painless expression from his instant death in the middle of battle. He moved to the other hostile and removed his sunglasses, looking into the same gold-orange eyes as before.

"…Why's a nigga have to get into screwed up fights like this…" Seven remarked in pain, spinning his neck.

"Boyo, just me, or do these guys remind you of Four? Same refusal to go down in combat… Same… Weird eyes." Fourteen said, looking at the doorway to the fuel room.

"No kidding, Shermes. Or whatever you cracka's say." Seven said.

"Oh shuttup you wanker. Anyway… The hell's taking Forty-Niner and Four so long? Come on, let's check it out!"

The doors of the room suddenly burst open with Squad Nine entering the room. Handcuffed in the middle of them was one of the Calamity Hawk agents screaming for them to let him go. In seconds, the entire Gallian force involved in the operation was fanned out across the reactor room. Aaron rushed down to the two Nameless and pointed them towards the reactor control room.

"You two. Check on the reactor. We'll handle everything else from here." Aaron ordered, outstretching his arm in the direction of the control room.

"Sir, three of our troops are un-" Fourteen tried saying.

"Unaccounted for. We'll handle it. Just do your job."

* * *

"For old time's sake, why don't we just-" Four said.

"-Put our guns down. Fine." Leah said, lowering her MAGS and placing it on the ground. "Your play." She said. Four did the same and backed up a bit.

"What's your game here? You're surrounded, and you just dropped your gun." Four asked.

Leah stood silent, staring at Four for a few moments before she finally responded.

"Kill anyone who gets in my way. Starting with you." Leah said calmly, producing a Tanto from under her suit and stabbing into Four with lightning speed. The sound of running boots began to echo from the far side, which Leah took only a moment to listen to as she pulled her blade back out of Four. "And that is my cue to leave. Goodbye, traitor. May you find no safe harbor in the coming storm." She taunted, running off to make her exit on the other side of the room.

"Who the hell was that?!" Aaron demanded, sprinting into the room from behind Four.

"None other than Leah Aela Haas, second in command of Calamity Hawk, but likely its true leader." Four said, limping towards Aaron and holding onto her midsection. Her golden eyes stared past Aaron for a few moments like he was invisible as she staggered. Not a moment later she collapsed into Aaron's arms, blacking out from the blood-loss.

* * *

Four opened her Darcsen-blue eyes, staring up to the top of the medical tent. From what she could feel, she had several layers of bandages wrapped around her and a constrictive blanket over her. Every breath made her shiver, giving her chills like she was in the middle of Fhirald.

"Settle down. You're lucky to be alive after that stabbing." Aaron said, trying to calm her down.

"Lucky? That was an average outcome of a sortie for me… Just not expecting it to be so… Cold." Four said, forcing herself up.

"Cold? Nononono, stay down, you must be in shock." Aaron insisted. Four ignored him and jumped off the bed, looking at the POW that Aaron had captured earlier.

"…He's dead… No wounds... No sign of lethal injection…" Four commented to herself on the POW. "How long has it been?" Four asked.

"About a day. Not sure what happened to that man, heart failure I guess. We'll move him out soon. Shame we never got to interrogate him."

"Only a day…" Four looked into the mirror and saw her blue eyes. "…Oh Haas, you crazy bitch… You went and made them even more dependent…"

"What? Are you alright? Lay down! You must be in shock! Chills! Can't talk loud enough! And you look awfully shaky!" Aaron kept going.

"I'll be fine…" Four said.

"Your name's… Kitsune, right? I saw the little Kanji you had sewn on your jacket. Ok, really, lie down." Aaron said.

"Names aren't important." Four said, subtly nodding as she sorted through one of the medical bags out of Aaron's sight. "…Great, one of these know-it-all chaps who's probably obnoxious and only knows stereotypes…" She whispered to herself, clicking a small cylinder of Silvre onto a Hypospray.

"Why not- Oh. Oh. Oh. Fine. Four." Aaron said, discouraged. "No, really, lie down. You took quite the hit there… Are you alright?" He asked as he saw Four inject a hypo into her neck.

"Better than ever." Four said, turning around to Aaron, her eyes the orange-gold everyone around her had come to recognize. "Better than ever, Sergeant Gunther."


End file.
